4 Turns
by holydraco
Summary: Hermione accidentally travelled back in time to four centuries ago in which people witch-hunted and goblins revolted, meanwhile she met a wizard who resembled Draco Malfoy in every possible way. (Dramione)
1. Four Turns

_Jul 22 1999_

Tick tock.

The busy, hustling ticking loaded the chamber like thousands of minuscule, marching footsteps. Every kind of clocks—large and small, grandfather and carriage—was hung in spaces between the bookcases or standing on desks ranging the length of the room. Clocks could be found on every surface. At the far end of the room, a huge crystal bell jar erected on a table, darting beautiful, dancing, diamond-sparkling light all over the place.

Inside the jar which appeared to be full of billowing, glittering wind, a tiny object rose and fell on the current, moving through an endless loop. The object was a small hummingbird. At the bottom of its circuit, the bird was within its egg. As it rose, it hatched and grew into a mature bird by the time it reached the apex of its cycle. On the way back down, it became a fledgling bird then re-entered its egg, which reformed around it, before everything repeated all over again.

The bell jar never failed to mesmerize her. Hermione could stare at the life cycle of the bird all day. Her chocolate eyes reluctantly shifted from the jar and landed on the large glass-fronted case standing against a wall. Hourglasses of various sizes and colours dived from the shelves before they soared back to where they'd been in mere seconds ago, replaying the movement. The magical devices were trapped in an infinite loop of falling over, un-falling, and then re-falling, in an endless cycle. The turbulent Time-Turners were what she came here for.

Since the defeat of Voldemort, Hermione had worked for the Ministry at the Department of Mysteries. Told by its name, it comprised loads of mysteries. Employees of the department were forbidden from discussing or disclosing any information about their duties. Little was known about their workplace, and even less was known about their jobs, the name "Unspeakables" was granted to the workers at the incomprehensible division.

As an Unspeakable, Hermione couldn't divulge any detail of her jobs to anyone, even her best friends. Ron, being the gossipy man, always tried to trick Hermione into spilling confidential information, however with her mouth professionally zipped up, she never granted him any detail. Violating the personnel regulations of her job was the last thing Hermione would do.

The plummeting tiny machines derived every ounce of attention from Hermione. Time-Turners were rare in the Wizarding World and they couldn't be easily replaced. During the Battle of the Department of Mysteries in 1996, the full stock of Time-Turners in the Ministry had been rendered useless—not destroyed—just unusable. It'd all happened due to the way one of them had fallen at the moment their counter had been knocked over, they're trapped in an endless loop for all eternity. They no longer had any functioning Time-Turners after the battle. As of now, it's Hermione's job to fix them.

To make the devices usable again, freeing them from the repetitive pattern seemed to be the only way. Yet, it's easier said than done. It'd been months since Hermione and her co-workers began to work on the project, but not a solution had been come up with. Frustrated by the snail-paced progress they'd made, many of her colleagues had become frustrated while some had even given up already. Still, being the brightest witch of her age, Hermione was positive about the challenge and confident in overcoming the difficulties ahead.

The hour-arm of a clock pointed at 7, suggested that Hermione had worked overtime again and she's the only person left in the department. Inspired by the Muggle physics book she'd just finished, she decided to come back to the Time Room to give her hypothesis a try before she called it a day.

Pointing her vine wood wand at the drifting pile of Time-Turners, she uttered an incantation, "Immobulus."

Nothing happened as she'd expected—the Freezing Charm had no effect on them. She'd known this a long time ago. She just needed to make sure.

Although the Time-Turners were right in front of you, it didn't necessarily mean that they're sharing the same space with you. Once entangled in the descending and ascending loop, they're no longer in the same dimension; they're in the fourth-dimensional world while you're in the third. Stopping them from moving with a simple Freezing Charm wouldn't work because pausing the motions of the devices was equivalent to pausing the time itself. Basically, the devices were trapped in the alternative world created by one of the Time-Turners and they kept going back to seconds before and replayed the falling and un-falling process.

Hermione contemplated, _is it possible to return them to the time prior to the fall? Like an hour ago or more before any of them fell off the counter?_

However, Hour-Reversal Charm had been cast on every single Time-Turner in the Ministry. It's used to reverse time by one hour, up to a maximum of five hours. Under the restrictions of the charm, there's no hope of sending the Time-Turners back three years ago, to the point that the battle hadn't happened yet. You had to remove the spell from the Time-Turners first, which could be dangerous. Hermione hesitated for a brief moment. _If you don't try, you'll never know._

Pointing at the magical devices, Hermione muttered a sing-song incantation that she'd read from an old document in the data room. It said without the spell, one flip of the hourglass would take you back one year in the past.

Everything still looked the same. The sand in the hourglasses of the Time-Turners remained flowing through the narrow, implying the looping time-travelling process was unaffected. Hermione squatted in front of the counter and stared at the one that always dropped closest to the floor. It's apparently the first one fell from the shelves and trapped the following others into the loop. It's the start of the chaos.

She drew a small note with her neat handwriting out of her pocket and read:

_The Battle of the Department of Mysteries (18th July, 1996)_  
_Present (22nd July, 1999)_

_3 turns __ 22nd July, 1996_  
_4 turns __ 22nd July, 1995_

"Four turns will be fine," she murmured to herself as her hand stuffed the paper back into her pocket.

She laid her elbow on her knees with her forearm slightly slanted, her opened hand waited at the level where her target would land. Once the cold metal collided with her palm, she folded her hand around it. Other Time-Turners no longer fell but froze in the air as if time was paused. Wasting no time, she quickly held the tiny handle of the device and turned.

_One. Two. Three. Four._

The surrounding changed rapidly. Then she realized she had miscalculated something.

There's no way to only bring the Time-Turners to the past. The moment you touched the Time-Turner, you'd be pulled into another dimension where you experienced time at a different rate. It explained why time appeared to be frozen when she was in contact with the device. But none of this was important anymore because there's another challenge she had to face.

She had gone back to the past.

It felt like ages for her to wait for the surrounding to stop changing. It stopped eventually. She was no longer in the Time Room, nor the Ministry. She wasn't even inside a building. Still squatting, she gathered the thirty Time-Turners on the stony road and placed them inside her magically expanded pocket. Scanning around, she tried to figure out where she currently was. She's on the rampart of an old Norman castle. Before her, there was a river which provided a natural barrier to the castle. On the other three sides, the castle was defended by deep trenches. She knew she had read it in a book but couldn't recall the name of the castle.

She heard noises of people talking coming up from the river. Gripping her wand tight, she cautiously headed towards the edge of the rampart.

"Just kill her!"

Hermione looked down and observed from afar. A large group of people had gathered at the riverside. They're wearing antique clothing that she only saw in artworks; men in stockings or tunics while women in long gowns with sleeveless tunics. They're in the process of something. None of them noticed Hermione's existence as every pair of eyes were focusing on the same spot at the front. She couldn't tell what's happening though. Then a scream rang out, but it got muffled immediately.

Someone was getting tortured.

"Kill! Kill! Kill!" someone among the group shouted, and the others followed suit.

An object rose above the crowd as they yelled. It's a woman tied to a cucking stool. She was in her undergarments and her long hair was damp and messy, covering half of her face. That was dunking. Hermione had read that in history books but never seen it in person. Dunking was a form of punishment that was widely used in Europe in 17th and 18th Century. The victim was tied to a chair which could be elevated or lowered by the torturer. If he noticed that the victim was going to pass out, he elevated the chair. When he needed information, and the victim was unwilling to cooperate, he lowered it. The victim was usually intermittently submerged for many hours until he or she revealed information or death occurred. It was barbaric.

Hermione tightened her hold around her wand as she continued to watch. She wanted to save the woman, but the situation didn't seem fit. There were way too many people. She could've got caught even if everyone here was a Muggle. Besides, if there were wizards around too, not only would the rescue be completely unachievable but also she would've put herself in a dangerous position.

A few men released the woman on the chair and forcefully dragged her towards a large stake of wood. They made her stand on her wobbling legs and bound her to the wood. The woman struggled and screamed in vain. None of the onlookers seemed bothered. No one pitied the woman who's going to be executed. Later, the pile of logs underneath her were ignited. Flames slowly grew and engulfed her relentlessly. People catcalled and clapped their hands at the sight, while the woman's deafening screams hit the walls and echoed. The agony in the voice sent shivers down Hermione's spine.

_It's almost 21st Century! I can't believe people are still doing this,_ she thought.

Dumbfounded and nauseated by the barbaric acts, she ran away as what her intuition told her. She ran and ran until she's out of breath. While her chest heaved as she panted, she found herself standing in front of the castle keep. Her feet had brought her to a spacious courtyard. Suddenly, she knew where she was. She was in one of the most famous Norman castles in England, Northampton Castle.

The castle looked very different from the photos she'd seen. Every photo she'd seen of the castle showed how ruptured and ruinous it was. However, in front of her was a much less damaged version.

Hermione's face went white as she collapsed to the lawn.

_The castle was demolished by the London and North Western Railway for the construction of Northampton Castle railway station in 1878._

According to Professor Croaker's law, five hours was the longest someone could go back in time without a possibility of serious harm to the traveller or time itself.

_Four years was dangerous enough. A century or more?_

She vomited.

* * *

**Author's note:**

Thank you for checking out my new story! Tell me what you think because I'd love to hear your opinions!

And English is my second language. I'm sure that there must be some errors here and there within my story. I hope they wouldn't bother you much during your reading. Again, thanks for spending your time reading my story. Love you guys!

-Cathy


	2. Troubled Time

_Before 1878_

The Time-Turners owned by the Ministry were typical Time-Turners. They're supposed to have a limit of travelling back a maximum of five hours. After the time had been turned, the devices wouldn't be able to take their travellers back to the present. Hermione had time-travelled numerous time with a Ministry's time-turner in her third year of Hogwarts, but since she'd only reversed a few hours in time every time, she just let time pass until she's back to the present. Hermione had absolutely no idea how she could return from the past to the present with a typical Time-Tuner.

"Calm down, Hermione," she murmured to herself hysterically. "You'll be alright."

However, her shaky words didn't soothe her. She knew she was nothing close to alright. But it's no use crying over spilt milk. She had to make the best of the bad situation. Mustering every ounce of strength left in her body, she stumbled to her feet, her legs shaking. She wiped the sourness off her mouth with her robe sleeve and took a deep breath. Then her brains analyzed all the information she had.

She didn't know what the present time of here was. But she was sure that she was currently in Northampton, a town in the East Midlands region of England in the 19th Century or earlier. People had tortured a woman with water and burnt her to death, which were common punishments given to criminals by Muggles back then. Therefore, the group of onlookers were very likely Muggles.

Before she could find the way home, she had to integrate into this world. No one here could learn the fact that she's from the future.

Not only couldn't she let anyone notice she didn't belong to this timeline, but also she's a witch. No matter in what period of time, it's wise for wizards to conceal their identities from Muggles. Under the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy law that was passed in 1692, every individual was responsible for hiding the presence of the magical community.

Even if the law wasn't present in this world, for her own safety, she couldn't let anyone learn that she's a witch. In the past, before passing the law, witch-hunts were popular among Muggles. Between the years 1450 and 1750, on the land of Britain Isle, 2000 people had been executed for witchcraft.

After making sure no one was around, she took out her wand. With a few spells, she adjusted her robes to a long loose fit gown in cyan colour and added a white sleeveless tunic on top of it. She'd turned into a working-class lady. Once she'd hid her wand away, she heard a hoarse voice shouted at her.

"You! What do you think you're doing here?"

Beside the castle keep, there was a middle-aged man in a scarlet red uniform pointing at her disapprovingly with the pike in his hand. He's probably the guard of the castle. Hermione instinctively raised her hands in surrender. The man marched to her and grabbed her shoulder forcefully, causing Hermione to whimper in pain. He scanned her from head to toe with a frown.

"Do you come here for the trials?" he asked.

Hermione nodded nervously.

"The trials are held at the riverside," he let her shoulder go. "You shouldn't be here. This is the prison for wizards and witches. How did you get inside though? There should be a guard at the entrance."

"I don't know. I just got lost," she lied as her voice shook.

"Bet Adam is slacking off again."

The guard gestured her to follow, and she obeyed, walking behind him anxiously. He halted once they'd arrived at the bent entrance of the castle. Before they separated, he asked her to head towards the west along the river. Hermione walked as told until the guard was out of sight. She almost got seen with a wand and got caught "sneaking" into a prison. _Thank Merlin,_ she sighed, leaning against the curtain wall.

Based on what the guard had said, this ruinous Norman castle had been turned into a prison for supposed witches and wizards and they're having witch trials at the riverside. So, the woman who had been killed earlier was a witch. They tossed her into the water because they're doing the infamous "swimming test" on her. Muggles believed that when submerged in water, an innocent sank like a stone while a witch floated because they had renounced baptism when entering the Devil's service. This implied that she's in the world where Muggles knew the existence of magic and they witch-hunted a lot. She's in somewhere before 1692, before the passing of the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy law.

Hermione didn't plan to attend the trials nor see any of the cruelty again. It's not safe to be around Muggles in a time like this. Once they sensed any abnormalities from her, she would never be able to go home. It's better for her to go somewhere plainly magical. Then a place popped up in her mind. _Hogsmeade, the only all_-_wizarding village in Britain, founded over a thousand years ago, around the same time as Hogwarts, by medieval wizard Hengist of Woodcroft as he was fleeing persecution by Muggles, _Hermione recited what she'd read in a book in her head.

Then she flicked her wand and apparated; her figure vanished into thin air with a crisp "pop" sound.

* * *

It's freezingly cold even in July. Hermione gave a complicated little wave to her wand so that hot air streamed out of the tip; then she pointed it to her chest, giving herself the warmth she needed in the snow.

Hogsmeade didn't change much for the past hundred years. It was just like what she remembered—a small village made of snowy ground and arrays of snowy roof-topped buildings. The familiarity reassured her a lot, and she almost forgot it's not the same Hogsmeade she knew.

On the end of the road stood the friendly inn, the Three Broomsticks. Her stomach growled at their fascia sign, reminding her how hungry she was, especially after she had threw up her entire lunch. Wasting no time, she strode towards the building brightly, completely unaware of the small creatures behind the trees.

Her knees dropped into the snow abruptly; her hand had lost hold of her wand as a spell hit her in the small of her back. Panicked, she turned around and saw three little figures slowly approaching her. The first things came in sight were their remarkable pointed nose and ears.

_Goblins._

She stared at the goblins in confusion as they stood in front of her. Their black eyes were at the same level as her brown ones as she's sitting on the snow. Then the three humanoids talked among themselves in a harsh, rasping language that she didn't understand.

After a brief conversation between them, one of the goblins pointed his long finger at her and drew a circle in the air. Ropes appeared of nowhere and they tightly wrapped her arms and body together. No matter how frantically she struggled, she couldn't break free from them.

As she struggled, the creature picked up her wand from the snow. Fiddling the thin wood in his hand, he smiled slyly, showing his crooked teeth.

_Ignoring her screams and squirms, he conversed with his fellows in their language before they levitated her. Her body floated in midair and involuntarily followed the three humanoids as they walked._What happened? Why would they do this to me? Do goblins really attack wizards?

_Yes, Goblin Rebellions,_ Hermione answered her own question.

There were a series of rebellions in which the goblin population of the Wizarding world revolted against discrimination and prejudice toward their kind by wizards and witches. Goblin Rebellions were one of the most important topics students studied in History of Magic. In the first-year final exam, they needed to memorize the dates of the major rebellions. After all these years, Hermione still remembered them very clearly—_1612, 1752 and 1789._

Due to the inexistence of the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy law, she'd speculated that she'd been back to somewhere before 1692. Since only one of the rebellions took place before the passing of the law, Hermione finally acknowledged what year she was in.

"1612," she said the answer under her breath as vapour came out of her mouth.

The thin layers of fabric around her weren't enough to keep herself warm in the cold weather. Her teeth chattered as she continuously shuddered. She didn't know how long she'd been levitated in midair, but she's losing her conscious to the coldness. Before she passed out, her body promptly descended and slumped into the snow. The last things she saw were a pair of grey eyes and hair strands that resembled the colour of snow.

Then black devoured everything.

* * *

**Author's note:**

Did you notice the time I put below the title? I think it's a good idea to show what time Hermione assumed herself was in before each chapter starts.

Thanks for reading and hope you enjoy the story so far!


	3. Ladon Malone

_1612_

The crackling sound had called her conscious back. She fluttered her eyes open, only found herself in a single bed, wrapped around by a thick warm blanket. Facing her at the end of the bed was a fireplace where the crackling sound of log fire came from.

It took her a while to remember what had happened. She'd been attacked by three goblins in the snow. Her wand had been confiscated. She'd been sent into the air, bound tightly by ropes. She'd almost frozen to death in the process. Before she'd blacked out, the levitating force under her limp body disappeared and she had fallen into the snow. Someone had saved her. She'd seen their grey eyes and their white hair.

Hermione was in a small room which was only installed with the essentials—a bed, a bedside table, a dressing table, an armchair, a wardrobe and a coat rack on which a black garment was hung. From the simple design of the chamber, she learned that she's in somewhat a guest room.

As she continued to observe, she found a pair of slippers placed neatly beside her bed and a set of porcelain teapot and cup on the bedside table. She reached out and touched the teapot. Her fingers withdrew reflexively because of the unexpected scalding heat.

She was pouring water into the teacup but interrupted by the noise on the other side of the door. She recognized it was the sound of a key inserting into a keyhole. Instinctively, she covered herself with the blanket and pretended to sleep. She wasn't ready to meet her saviour yet.

Within a few seconds, the door was opened. She checked out the person who had entered the room with her squinted eyes. It's a tall, slender man in a white tunic that its sleeves had lacy ruffles attached to them. From his outfit, he seemed to be from the upper class. His hair wasn't as white as she remembered. It had a tint of yellow as the silky hair reflected the warm light from the flames.

She shut her eyes as the man headed to the side of the bed. She heard him placed something on the wooden table beside her. He stood there for a brief moment before Hermione heard the fading sound of his footsteps, followed by the click noise from the door that indicated his exit.

Feeling curious, Hermione opened her eyes again. The coat rack was empty. On the side table, next to the tea set sat a thin long wood that she didn't see earlier. It's her wand. Hermione thanked the man from the bottom of her heart as she drank the water that had already turned warm. Peering out of the only window of the room, although it's been dark outside, she recognized the landscape instantly. She's still in Hogsmeade.

While she's having her third cups of water, she heard a knock on the door.

"Come in," she called, expecting to see the man to appear behind the wooden door.

However, this time, it's an old lady in a shabby apron, holding a tray of food. A warm, welcoming smile spread across her face as she saw Hermione was sitting on her bed with a cup in her hand.

"Dear, it's good to know you're fine," the woman expressed her joy and placed the tray on her bedside table. "Mr Malone said you're awake and asked me to bring you some food. And I'm Mrs Rosmerta, the owner of this inn. Let me know if you're in need."

_Mr Malone? Does she mean the man who's just come?_

Hermione thanked her with a smile. Once she's left alone again, she took a look at the tray. There were a bowl of hot chicken soup and two buttered buns. She didn't realize how hungry she was until she saw the food in front of her. She hadn't eaten anything since lunch (in her own timeline) which was about 12 hours ago. Within a few minutes, she'd finished the whole tray of food.

Getting so much better after the meal, she decided to return the utensils and seize the chance to look around. She slipped on the slippers and left the room. Once she reached the ground floor, she recognized the familiar interior design of the inn where she'd been to so many times in her time at Hogwarts—the Three Broomsticks. In the corner, a group of people had formed a circle at a large table. Every one of them had a tense expression on their face. No matter what they're discussing was something serious.

Standing in front of the staircase, Hermione tried to find a white-blond head among the group, but it was nowhere to be seen. He wasn't with them.

"Dear, you need more rest. Why did you come down?" Mrs Rosmerta hurried to her from the pub counter with a concerned look. "Do you need anything?"

"Ah, no." Hermione shook her head and handed the food tray to the old lady. "I just want to return these to you."

"Thank you, Dear. You can just leave it in your room next time. I'll collect them anyway," Mrs Rosmerta took the tray and smiled. Before the inn owner headed towards the kitchen, Hermione stopped her.

"Mrs Rosmerta, do you know where Mr Malone is?"

"I have no idea, Dear. He didn't say where he's going. Before he left the inn, he told me that you're awake and asked me to take care of you while he's away."

Hermione nodded in disappointment, then she decided to use her unconsciousness as an excuse to ask for "today's" date.

"What day is today? How long have I slept?"

"It's still the 22nd of July, my dear. You've only slept for a few hours."

* * *

Hermione was going to go out for a walk when the owner of the inn caught her by the arm. Mrs Rosmerta warned her that it's dangerous outside. Goblins had become violent and aggressive towards wizards and witches since a month ago; so far at least twenty wizards had gone missing.

Sitting at the pub counter for a brief moment, she'd been educated with much information about the current world. Most of the wizards sitting in the corner were inhabitants of the village, they're very concerned about the goblins' unusual attacks, therefore the Three Broomsticks had been used as the wizards' headquarters for the rebellion. People were confused by the entire situation. They had no idea why the goblins acted violently to wizards all of a sudden as goblins had never acted like that before.

Hermione wanted to tell them why the goblins rebelled but decided it'd be better for them to seek the reasons by themselves as she's afraid that she would've changed too much of the history if she did so, despite appearing in front of anyone in this timeline should've already flipped the future upside down.

When the hour arm of the clock pointed at 10, Hermione went upstairs back to her room. She had enough knowledge about the "present". She should start to find a way to go back home.

She poured out all 30 Time-Turners from her enchanted pocket on the mattress. Resting on the wooden floor on the side of the bed, she gazed at the pile with her chocolate eyes. She wondered whether her colleagues discovered her disappearance after so many hours. She hoped someone would figure out her whereabouts and save her from this chaos because she had no idea how to reverse time back to the future with the little devices in front of her.

She shuddered when a sudden noise came from the door; hurriedly hid away the Time-Turners into her pocket before the door was opened. Her eyes landed on the tall figure behind the door. It's the same man she'd seen earlier. Her intuition knew that's Mr Malone.

His grey eyes met her brown ones as he kicked the door close. The door banged behind him as he took off his black cape gracefully. A piece of white-blond hair rested on his cheekbone loosely, covering half of his flushed face. The winds must've brushed harshly across it.

Hermione gaped at the young man before her in shock. He resembled one of her former schoolmates so much; she almost thought he's someone she'd known for over a decade. His grey eyes, his pale skin, his pointy chin; everything just reminded her of Draco Malfoy. But it's 1612, Malfoy couldn't be here, not to say to save her from the goblins.

"Feel better?" the man hung his cape on the coat rack and asked emotionlessly without giving her a second glance as if she's invisible.

_Even his voice sounded similar to Malfoy's._

Slightly intimidated by the similarities that the man in front of her and her school rival shared, Hermione nodded.

He opened the wardrobe and picked out a few pieces of clothing. Before he stepped into the bathroom, Hermione burst and froze him in his tracks.

"Excuse me, who are you?"

"Ladon Malone," he answered curtly before he disappeared behind the closed bathroom door.

Hermione repeated the name under her breath, _Ladon Malone..._ She shook her head, trying to push her weird thoughts away, _of course, he's not Draco Malfoy! There's no way Malfoy can be here!_

She leaned against the bed, still on the floor. _Wait, __I still haven't thanked him. And it isn't polite if I don't tell him my name, is it? Maybe I should __make__ up a name because Hermione Granger shouldn't exist in the 17th Century._

As soon as Hermione had come up with a fake name, Malone came out of the steaming bathroom. He's in a white wrought nightshirt with laces at the shoulder and on the sleeves, and ruffles at the wrists. Around his neck was a linen cloth which appeared to be a towel as he rubbed it into his damp silver hair casually.

"Forgot to let you know, we have to share this room tonight. I just went to the Hog's Head and they don't have any vacant rooms either in this kind of tough times," he spoke nonchalantly while drying his hair with the towel, seemingly not bothered by the presence of the witch.

Hermione wasn't surprised at all. She had expected that they're going to share the room when he'd entered the bathroom with some clean clothes. Rising to her feet, she bowed at the man in front of her.

"Thank you for saving me, Mr Malone. I don't know how to repay you for this. If there's anything you want, please let me know. I'll try my best to fulfil your needs," she solemnly expressed her thankfulness.

"It's nothing," he dropped his hand to his side and replied softly. "You can just call me Malone. And you are?"

Hermione looked up and smiled, "I'm Helen Grantham. Nice to meet you, Malone."

A vague smile appeared on his straight face as he extended his hand. Hermione could feel the slightest moist when she shook his warm hand. His silver orbs looked gold as they glistened under the light of the cosy fire.

"Same here, Grantham."

* * *

**Author's note:**

Btw I know they didn't really have a bathroom in 17th century. But I guess in the Wizarding World, they could just conjure water and heat it with magic.

Thank you for taking the time to read my story!


	4. Helen Grantham

_Jul 22 1612_

"I'm Helen Grantham. Nice to meet you, Malone."

_Helen Grantham. Not Hermione Granger._

His heart sank at the name before the corners of his mouth twitched slightly upwards as he realized how dumb he was. _What do you expect? Why on earth would Hermione Granger be here? _He offered her his hand and said, "Same here, Grantham."

Helen Grantham took his hand willingly with a genuine smile that reached her chocolate eyes. They reminded him of Hermione Granger, an old schoolmate who he hadn't seen since the end of the Wizarding War. The young lady before him shared too many similarities with Granger. He couldn't help but think she's his old schoolmate.

Her brown bushy hair had caught his eyes when he's wandering around the village. Her small, limp figure in mid-air had recalled the memory that scarred his heart, triggering him to run over to see what'd happened. He couldn't resist the urge to rescue her from the goblins, although he knew it's reckless to save someone in the past. But at that moment, his rationality was all gone. He couldn't just stand there and do nothing. How rare was it to see Draco Malfoy with uncontrolled emotions?

_Who's Draco Malfoy? I'm Ladon Malone. Draco Malfoy doesn't exist until 1980._

He Stupefied the goblins next to the levitated girl. Instantly, with the levitating magic interrupted, the girl dropped into the snow with a dull thump. He hurried to her and checked on her—her eyes were rolling back; she's losing her conscious. He pat on her freezing cheek several times but she didn't respond. She was only in a linen gown which was too thin for the extremely low temperature. He instinctively took off his black cloak and wrapped it around the fainted girl. His hands slipped under her knees and her back as he picked her up.

_She's light, _he furrowed his brows and thought when hecarried her to his temporary habitation. Once he arrived at the inn, he informed the others that there were three goblins knocked down at the end of the street.

He cautiously rested her on his bed, afraid of causing more damage to the weak girl. Then he removed the cloak from her, exposing her to the warmth of the log fire. To help her warm up faster, he cast a Hot-Air Charm. Hot air streamed out of the tip of his wand and slowly brought the redness back to her once pale face and lips. When the girl looked alive again, he placed the thick blanket over the still unconscious girl before he stumbled on his numb feet. He'd been kneeling there, using magic for half an hour.

Since he worried that she would be thirsty when she's awake, therefore he conjured some hot water into the teapot on the bedside table and cast a spell on the pot to keep its content warm. After that, he placed the pair of slippers provided by the inn beside the bed before he left the room to the cellar where the goblins were captured.

When Draco reached the cellar, one of the wizards handed him a wand and said it's the property of the witch who'd been attacked. Draco pocketed the wand and sat on one of the wine barrels in the corner of the chamber, observing the interrogation.

The wizards were frustrated. They wanted to know why the goblins attacked wizards and witches all of a sudden. However, no matter how much pain they'd received, none of the goblins replied to any of the questions. 11 kids, 7 witches and 2 wizards had gone missing for the past month and everyone in Hogsmeade was distressed and frightened. People needed a reason for the strange phenomenon, but the goblins wouldn't spill anything. They just smiled slyly, showing their crooked teeth while getting tortured.

Being someone from the future, Draco knew it very well that goblins rebelled because of the discrimination and prejudice they'd received from the wizards and witches—they'd been considered subservient even though they're highly intelligent. Yet, he couldn't tell the wizards the information that they needed as that would lead to unnecessary suspicion to his identity. He couldn't let anyone know that he came from the future.

Staying there for an hour or two, Draco headed back to his room. When he opened the door, she was still lying in the bed, didn't seem awake. He quietly got closer to the bed as his hand pulled out her wand. He placed it nicely next to the porcelain tea set on the bedside table. Then his eyes caught the steam coming out from the teacup. He smirked as he turned his gaze to the girl on the bed. _Pretending to sleep, huh?_

Instead of "waking" her up, he decided to let her be. _Maybe she isn't ready to see anyone yet._ He took his cloak from the coat rack and exited the room. He needed to find another room for himself.

First, it's not convenient to share a room with anyone, especially a witch. The room was designed for one person and it was too small for two. Second, he had to avoid getting too close with anyone. It wouldn't do him anything good if he got familiar with anyone who's from the past. He would leave this world to where he truly belonged to one day.

Unfortunately, not only didn't the Three Broomsticks have any extra room, but also the Hog's Head. The only two inns in Hogsmeade were full in such troubled times. Draco didn't directly go back to the Three Broomsticks, instead, he stayed at the less fancy inn for a few drinks, although he always thought the Hog's Head was filthy and cheap. He supposed the witch in his room might need a bit of time to prepare herself.

Once he finished his third bottle of Butterbeer, he put a few Sickles on the table and left the crowded inn that's full of people from the working class. Holding his wand underneath his cloak, he scanned around the dark deserted road alertly as he walked along, in case the goblins had planned any ambush attacks. The winds in July weren't gentle. They're just as harsh as in winter and they hurt his exposed face on his way back the inn he's staying at.

And here he was, sitting in an armchair while drying his hair with a linen cloth that its water-absorbing ability wasn't adequate to earn the name "towel".

By the look of her outfit, Grantham seemed to be someone belonged to the working class. Her cyan gown was loose-fit and made of linen; thin and simple without laces and many ruffles; while he's wearing the typical clothing that upperclassmen would wear—tailor-made, made of wrought, attached with many fancy ruffles and laces. But surprisingly, in a time that strict class boundaries existed, she wasn't terrified by the big gap between their social status like the others. _Interesting._

He suggested the witch take a bath. However, she didn't comply. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she lowered her head and scowled at the dirty gown she's wearing.

"Can't sleep in a day gown, right?" he sighed as he got on his feet. Then he snatched a cream wrought nightshirt out of the wardrobe and handed it to her. "Wear this. You can Scourgify your clothes later."

Joy and gratitude sparkled in her brown eyes as she took the shirt and smiled, "Thank you."

_She looked identical to Hermione Granger, especially when she smiles. Don't really know how Granger's smile looked like though_—_never got the chance to have a closer look back then. Not that I care, _he sneered at the thought of the Hogwarts teachers' pet. After all these years, it was his first time thinking about the "boring" witch so many times in a day. _Bet her life is just as boring as always._

Draco's hair had become dry and silky again when the bathroom door opened, revealing Grantham rubbing her hair gently with a towel. Her hair was less crazy as the water had tamed it into a volume-less shape. She's in his nightshirt which was too big for her; the hem reached her ankles instead of her knees. _Imagine that's Hermione Granger wearing my shirt, drying her hair in front of me, _he stifled a laugh. _That's more impossible than Longbottom becoming a womanizer._

As the witch sat on the edge of the mattress, wiping her hair dry, Draco nodded at the furniture she's on.

"You can have the bed. I'll take the floor," he drawled lazily. Taught to be a gentleman, he couldn't let a lady sleep on the floor; his mother would be disgusted if he did so.

The witch frowned at his words as her hands dropped to her side, "No, I'll sleep on the f—"

He had expected that. Rolling his eyes, he interjected, "No, you'll sleep on the bed tonight. You're a patient."

"No, I'm feeling so much better now. I've already owed you so much. So let me take the floor," she insisted, grabbing the sheets in her fists firmly.

_What a stubborn witch. But that doesn't mean I'm going to give in._

"No, I refuse."

She sighed, "Can we make the bed bigger with magic, so we can share?"

"Believe me, we wouldn't be arguing in the first place if we can do that. Every item in this inn is charmed to restrict anyone from changing its shape and size to prevent people from bringing anyone to a room intended for less by paying a cheaper price. It's a policy to ensure their income," Draco explained and added sternly. "Take the bed."

Grantham pouted, looking like a deflated balloon. Eventually, she nodded unwillingly. "Let me know if you regret it. I'll be glad to switch places with you," she squeezed a smile.

"Alright," he chuckled.

* * *

Soon, he regretted.

Even though he had got an extra pillow and blanket from Mrs Rosmerta, there's no way he could fall asleep. The wood floor was hard and cold; it'd made his back ache within an hour. _Who would've expected sleeping on the floor is torturous?_ He missed his bed so much that Grantham's suggestion became very tempting, however, accepting her offer meant he accepted defeat which was the last thing he wanted to do. He hated being a loser.

Under the light of the fire, he peeked at the witch who's sleeping soundly on the bed. Her lips were slightly apart and her thick hair casually spread across the pillow. He groaned in jealousy at the sight. He wished to switch positions with her. He wanted to have a sweet dream in the warm, comfy bed.

He poked the witch in the arm tentatively, however she didn't give a response, not even a flinch. Trying his best not to wake her up, he carefully pushed the witch and her pillow to the side that stuck to the wall, making space for himself to steal some of the cosiness she had. He placed his pillow and blanket next to hers before he sneaked into the bed. He sighed in relief as soon as the soft material hugged his aching back.

_I'll wake up earlier than her so she'd never know about this, _he thought with a satisfied smile before he fell asleep.

But things went contrary to his wishes.

"Malone, wake up."

He tardily opened his eyes and met a pair of disapproving brown ones.

_Bollocks._

* * *

**Author's note:**

I always have a feeling that deep down Draco is a considerate person, someone who cares much about the details. He just doesn't show this side a lot, or in other words, he hides it from people.

* * *

**Learn more about their names:**

_Helen_, Greek name

Meaning: Shining light. The bright one.

_Grantham_, English surname

Meaning: Person from Grantham, Lincolnshire ("village built on gravel," or possibly "Granta's homestead." )

_Ladon_, Greek name

Meaning: Dragon of Hera. It guarded the gardens of the Hesperides in Greek mythology. The constellation's name Draco represents Ladon.

_Malone_, English surname

Meaning: Anglicized form of Gaelic Ó Maoil Eoin "descendant of the devotee of (Saint) John". This is the name of an ecclesiastical family at Clonmacnoise.


	5. Growing Seed

_Jul 23 1612_

Sunshine seeped through the curtains, telling Hermione that it's time for work. She had a bizarre dream that she'd travelled back in time to four centuries ago. To make everything more ridiculous, she met someone who looked exactly like Draco Malfoy. But he didn't bully her or insult her. Instead, he saved her when she's in danger. Hermione scoffed as she remembered Malfoy wasn't Malfoy in her dream; his name was Ladon Malone. That's why he's not treating her like an inferior.

After savouring every detail of the dream, she opened her eyes. She wasn't in her bedroom. Where was she? Suddenly, a rustling sound startled her. Panicked, she lowered her head and tried to figure out why there's noise coming from her left. A man with white-blond hair grabbed his blanket closer and wrapped it tightly around himself. Ironically, the man was identical to the person who she'd dreamed of.

_Why the hell is Draco Malfoy sleeping in my bed?_

Then realization hit her like a wave. _Oh, Merlin!_ None of these was a dream. She'd indeed gone back to the past; the "good Malfoy" had saved her from the goblins and offered her a place to stay. Still, this couldn't explain why he's sleeping beside her. He'd said he would sleep on the floor. She frowned at the wizard who's facing her, wearing a peaceful expression.

_How can they look so alike? Is he Malfoy__'s ancestor or something?_

She gave the sleeping man a nudge in the arm. The man leisurely rolled around, facing her with his back. Hermione tutted at the human-shaped pig before shaking him by the shoulder.

"Malone," she hissed.

"Hmm... Five more minutes," he slurred in his sleep.

"Malone, wake up," she warned in a dangerous tone.

His eyelids fluttered before they revealed the silver orbs. Malone blinked innocently at her, soon astonishment rushed into his widened eyes. He abruptly jumped out of the bed and screamed, holding his blanket in front of his chest as if it could protect him like a shield.

"Bloody hell!"

Hermione glared at the man and bellowed, "That should be me screaming! Why are you in my bed?" She got off the bed and crossed her arms.

"Well, well, to be exact, it's _my_ bed," he stated with a sneer. As if extinguishing a fire with alcohol, his words only infuriated her more.

"You invaded my personal space," she spat every word clearly as she picked up her wand on the bedside table. Then she slowly paced towards him, glowering at him the entire time.

His face turned white when he saw her fiddling her wand. On the contrary, he's utterly defenceless—what he had in hand was a blanket which was perfect for covering his corpse after an unfair, one-sided fight.

"Wait," he retreated with an outstretched arm, keeping distance between them. "I thought you didn't mind sharing the bed with me. You said we could share!"

"I did say that, but it's only when the bed is larger!" she snapped.

"Okay, okay! I'm sorry!" he apologized grudgingly as he raised his hands in surrender; the blanket once in his grasp dropped to the floor comically. "It's not really my fault though. The floor is too hard and it gave me a backache! There's no way I could fall asleep on the floor!"

Her rage slowly slipped away as she listened. _He didn't need to go through any of this. To be honest, he's obviously from a rich family and I'm no one to him. Still, he's willing to let me have his bed. And he apologized. How can I be mad at him?_

She sighed and hopped onto the bed. "Never mind, I'm leaving today anyway," she whispered.

Malone was in the middle of gathering the blanket. When he heard her last sentence, his gaze fixed on her. "Where are you going?" he asked, his brows furrowed.

"I don't know. I need to go home," she shrugged.

He dropped the blanket ball on the bed nonchalantly before he slumped into the armchair across her. "Where's your home?"

"Far far away," Hermione stated calmly with a sad smile. "I don't know how to go back, but I know I'll be able to find a way eventually. My family and friends are waiting for me."

Hermione didn't know why she's telling all this to the man before her. Maybe she just needed someone to hear her out. Or maybe seeing him with a face of someone from her time had misled her to think that he might understand. She had already spilt too much.

"I have money, I have connections all over the country. No matter where your home is, I can help," he leaned forward, his fingers intertwined while his elbows on his thighs. He stared her in the eyes, his lips tightened. She tried to search for a hint of him joking, but couldn't. He's being serious.

Then she shook her head. "You can't. And why would you help me? I can't pay you back. You know, I'm broke." Which wasn't completely a lie—Hermione only had a few Galleons with her when she accidentally time-travelled.

"Guilt," he muttered. "You just look like someone I know, someone I regretted not giving her a hand when she's in need. Maybe I'm just trying to redeem myself by helping you, because I can trick myself into thinking that I'm helping her when I'm, in fact, helping you. I'm not doing this for you. I'm doing this for myself, to make myself feel better."

Hermione didn't expect a revelation from a man who she'd only known for one day.

"I'm not a generous person. I don't help you for nothing. A chance to redeem myself from guilt is what I need from you," he added.

"I—" Hermione stuttered. It's not like she didn't want to give him the chance, but she couldn't! How could he help her travel back to the future world? Besides, she couldn't let him know that she didn't belong to this timeline! "Thank you for everything you've done for me. But this time, I can't use your help. I'm sorry."

He leaned against the back of the chair and sighed, "If you insist."

* * *

Malone hadn't said anything to her since the unexpected conversation. After he took a bath and changed into his day-time clothing, he left her alone. It had become awkward between them. Not that she cared. She wouldn't be seeing him again after today and she shouldn't invest any feelings into anything or anyone from the past. Hermione pat her cheeks to lighten herself up before she jumped off the bed. Then she found a small parchment attached on the door: _Free breakfast downstairs._ A smile crept on her face.

During breakfast, Hermione didn't see any sign of Malone. Mrs Rosmerta told her that he'd gone out alone again. Her heart sank at the information. She ignored her "slightest" disappointment and forced herself to enjoy the food happily.

When she's having her breakfast tea, the bell chimed as the door of the inn opened. His eyes met hers but they darted away quickly. Malone didn't give her a second look and directly headed to the staircase, holding a green object in his arm. Shortly, he's nowhere to be seen. Surprisingly, within minutes, he walked downstairs again, carrying a suitcase this time. Their eyes met each other's one last time.

Standing at the entrance of the inn, the wizard squeezed out a smile before he opened his mouth and spoke. Since the dining area was crowded and noisy in the morning, she couldn't hear him. She focused on the movements of his mouth. As soon as Hermione figured out what he's trying to say, he disappeared.

"Take care." That's the last thing he said to her.

Later, when Hermione got back to her room, she found the green object Malone had been holding earlier. She removed the strings from the parcel before she held it in mid-air. It's a cape made of wool in emerald green. While Hermione was appreciating the garment, a tiny note slipped and fell on the floor. Curiously, she picked it up and read:

_Grantham,_

_Take it with you. Next time __when you're freezing to death__, I won't be there to save you._

_Won__'t sneak into your bed ever again,_  
_Malone_

Hermione smiled at the closing of the note, _yea, of course, you won't._ She detected a faint scent of applewood and peppermint as she clutched the cape to her chest; tingling sensations spreading from her heart to her stomach. Despite her unawareness, she'd been starting to have unnecessary feelings for him, someone she wouldn't have a future with.

The seed had been planted in her heart and it's growing, no matter she wanted it or not.

* * *

**Author's note:**

This is by far my favourite chapter! The separation was sad but I still like it! I love how Draco cared Hermione enough to buy her a cape even though she didn't want his help.


	6. Disastrous Success

_Jul 23 1612_

The wardrobe was emptied. Every sign of Ladon Malone ever staying here had been wiped clean, except the messy bedding. On the bed, there were two pillows and two blankets which one of them was put into a ball shape. Wearing the green cape she'd just received, Hermione looked at the room one last time before she closed the door. The memory would be forever kept inside this chamber. She had to get going.

As soon as she laid her foot on the ground floor, she's welcomed by the beaming inn owner. Mrs Rosmerta asked whether she's leaving, Hermione nodded with a sad smile.

"Mrs Rosmerta, how much is it for a night?" asked Hermione as she shoved her hand into her pocket and searched for her purse.

"Don't worry about the money, Dear. Mr Malone has already paid the room fee," the old lady interrupted her search by holding her wrist. Then she pulled Hermione into a hug and smiled. "Take care."

* * *

To know more about the principles of time-travel, what's better than reading books? However, Hermione doubted there was any book that mentioned how to travel to the future, still, it's worth a try. Of course, she couldn't go to the library in Hogwarts, there's no way to walk into the school without being detected. Therefore, she decided to go to another plainly magical place in Britain—Diagon Alley.

Apparation was a good friend since it could take her to anywhere that hadn't changed in four centuries. The always crowded magical district looked almost the same. It's full of wizards and witches, filled with happy vibes. There were some stores that Hermione'd never seen before since they'd shut down in the following 400 years. She'd love to wander around, but she had to resist the urge. She had something more important to do. Hermione let her feet take the lead since the way to her destination had been programmed in her subconscious after countless visits; it's her favourite shop in London after all.

She finally halted as the shop sign "Flourish and Blotts" came into sight. Standing at the entrance, she stared into the bookstore through its large window. There were torches attached to the walls, spreading orange-yellow light to every corner of the shop, providing every reader the brightness they needed. She was going to push the wooden door open when the notice on it caught her eyes. The bookstore was looking for a shopkeeper and the offer wasn't bad either, they're willing to pay a Galleon a day and offer a living place.

_Perfect! I can do that,_ thought Hermione. _I won__'t be able to go home anytime soon, anyway. I need some money and a place to live my life. _As she entered the bookstore, the smell of books, ink and parchment brushed across her face as if welcoming her home. A smile crept on her face as she walked into the heart of the cramped room. Every floor-to-ceiling bookcase was stacked with all kinds of books; thin and thick, tattered and new; you could always find the answer you needed within the bookcases if you're patient enough.

An old man with a pair of half-moon glasses greeted her as she got closer to the cashier counter in the corner. Hermione nodded at him and explained her purpose in coming here. Mr Blott, the owner of the shop inquired her about her experience of working in a bookshop. Hermione shook her head honestly.

"But I love books, I have the passion and I'm a quick learner. I'm confident that I'll be a competent employee," Hermione begged. "Please, I need this job."

Mr Blott touched his grey beard and frowned, considering her words thoroughly. Eventually, he clenched his jaw and nodded sternly. "You see, I'm old now. I need a smart one to help me run the shop. I don't want to waste much time and effort to teach someone their duties. So, you'd better learn fast."

"Thank you! I'll do my best!" Hermione grinned and thanked her new boss.

Within a few days, Hermione had completely mastered her job and understood every aspect of running a bookshop. Mr Blott didn't live above his shop like most of the other shop-owners in Diagon Alley, as Mr Blott had no more doubt with her ability, he decided to come back to the shop less. This gave Hermione more freedom to dive into the sea of books to search for the answers to her questions, especially after work. Having full access to every corner of a bookstore was undeniably one of the best things in her life.

Hermione was living behind a hidden door in the attic of Flourish and Blotts. The door was concealed by a large bookcase. Once you tapped the correct pattern on the case with your wand, it split into half and revealed a wooden door which connected to Hermione's room. It's amazing to live in a place surrounded by books. She felt so lucky that she'd got this job.

On Hermione's desk, three tall stacks of books were sitting in front of her; there were at least thirty books and every one of them was about time-travel. She hoped at least one of them could tell her how to travel to the future before she picked up the book on top of one of the piles. Sitting comfortably in her armchair, she started her research.

* * *

A particular witch had consistently popped up in his head in the following week. It's probably because she looked like a twin to an old schoolmate of his and recalled one of his worst memories. She had made him irrational to a point that he'd offered to help her, although he had told himself many times that they weren't the same person. He wished to get her rid of his mind, but the more he wished, the more she lingered on it. He's not feeling good about this at all. Getting attached to anything or anyone from the past was a dangerous idea, after all, you might never want to leave ever again.

Draco had moved to London, staying at the Leaky Cauldron after he left Hogsmeade. He needed a place to stay for a long period before he could figure out how to go back to his own time. He'd been stuck to live as Ladon Malone for a month already.

Everything had gone disastrous because of a bloody Time-Turner.

After the war, Draco had gone on numerous trials. Fuck Potter for acting like a saint, giving testimonies to help him escape a life sentence to Azkaban. Once Draco's proved to be innocent, he had started his career as an Alchemist. Although the income was unstable, it wasn't like he needed more money, was it? He's born into one of the richest wizarding families after all. He didn't really need a job. He could do whatever he wanted.

However, his friend, Theo Nott wasn't as lucky. His father had been sent to Azkaban for supporting the Dark Lord and a huge portion of the money in their family vault was confiscated by the Ministry. Fortunately, when he's worrying about what to do for a living, Draco's father had offered him a job.

Everyone knew that Lucius Malfoy loved collecting artefacts a lot, only the number of his collections could have him open another British Museum. Still, Lucius never got satisfied. He's looking for something more special. Draco had no idea where his father had got the news from, but Lucius had told him that every Time-Turner in the Ministry was unusable and there wasn't a single functioning Time-Turner in Britain. That's why Lucius had hired Theo Nott. He wanted a usable Time-Turner and it's Theo's job to invent one.

Being one of the smartest in their year, Theo had started inventing different types of devices at a very young age. And he'd made good use of his talent—he usually used his inventions to prank his housemates at Hogwarts.

When they're in their fifth year, Theo had created a device particularly for Draco; to his dismay, it screamed "his father will hear about this" whenever he'd sneaked a girl into their dormitory, scaring the hell out of the girls and leaving him horny. In addition, the girls never wanted to go back to his room again. It's an awful year since every Slytherin girl knew about the bloody alarm and none of them would get any closer to him. At the end of the year, Draco had found the device under his bed and broken it into pieces with a Bombarda.

Although he rarely gave praises to anyone, he had to admit that Theo Nott was really intelligent, that's why Draco always regarded him as an equal. Within the two years after the war, Draco had come to Theo's office in the Manor from time to time to offer some help. Eventually, they had managed to create a Time-Turner that's much more powerful than the Ministry's ones. It wasn't restricted by an Hour-Reversal Charm, allowing one to travel back years or decades; or worse, centuries. They didn't know they'd succeeded until Draco had accidentally time-travel with it, back to four centuries ago.

It's all an accident. He's appreciating the Time-Turner in his hand, chatting with Theo at the same time when a House-elf had popped into the office, specifically, onto Draco's lap. His parents had ordered the elf to invite them to the drawing-room for dinner, but the Apparation had gone all wrong as the elf landed on Draco's lap. By the look of its behaviour, it had been drinking during working hours. The sudden weight on his thighs had astounded Draco. Making matters worse, the elf wasn't completely drunk. It knew it'd done something terribly wrong and begged for punishment. It clung to his forearm and frantically shook it while screaming.

"Bad Ziggy! Master Draco has to punish bad Ziggy!"

"Aye, Ziggy, stop it!" yelled Draco, trying to get his arm out of its grasp. He had no intention to punish the little being at all. "Stop laughing and get him the hell off me, Theo!"

No one would have guessed that despite a small figure, an elf could be this strong. The shake got only more vigorous when Theo was holding its waist, trying to pull it away from Draco. When he found Ziggy was no longer on his lap, he'd been sitting on a dusty floor of a place he didn't recognize. He gazed at the tiny device in his hand, then at the foreign surroundings. _Merlin__'s Beard!_

On his first day being in the year 1612, Draco's emotions had gone through a dramatic change—from _"Theo, we've succeeded!"_ to _"Fuck you, Theo! I thought you said there's a 5-minute restriction on the Time-Turner?" _A month later, he still didn't have a clue how to leave this timeline and he'd almost given up. However, meeting the witch who resembled a person he knew in his time had reminded him the fact that he didn't belong here. He had to go home. He had to go back to the future, to where his friends and family were waiting for him. He had to work harder unless he wanted to stay here forever.

_Theo, come and bloody save me already!_

* * *

**Author's note:**

I really want to see Draco's face when he was trying to get intimate with a girl, but then an alarm killed the mood and scared the girl away by screaming "his father will hear about this". And no girls wanted to be any closer to him for the entire year. Just thinking of it makes me laugh.

You've probably noticed that the plot of this story mostly sticks to the canon with some little fragments added here and there. Most of the things were real, for instance, Theo worked for Lucius and invented two Time-Turners in canon, there's a goblin rebellion in 1612, there's a witch trial held in Northampton castle in 1612, etc. I did my research and I think it's really fun to add facts into a story to make it sound more realistic and spice things up!

And I just discovered I made a huge mistake. I typed June as July the entire time! I changed it anyway. Just to remind you everything took place in July.

Thanks for reading and I hope you like the story!


	7. Fugitive Wizards

_A__ug 11 1612 (Saturday)_

There were still 21 books, untouched on her desk. She's on her 11th and she's getting discouraged. Three weeks had slithered away. Her best friend, Harry's birthday had passed about a week ago and she couldn't even say a "happy birthday" to him. Besides, she couldn't find any useful information inside the ten books she'd finished. They only talked about the primary principles and hypothesis that Hermione had acknowledged beforehand. Hermione hated to admit, but it's a complete waste of time, and she'd started having doubt about her possibility of going back home.

It was a fairly quiet Saturday morning as most people had gone to the church. There were only two customers in the shop and both of them buried their noses inside their books, apparently didn't need any of her help. Therefore, Hermione took a book and read at the counter.

She didn't know how much time had passed when the doorbell chimed, suggested someone had shoved open the door. Hermione shot a glance as she robotically greeted "Welcome to Flourish and Blotts" and found a tall man with platinum hair strode to one of the massive bookcases. Then she turned her attention back to her book.

Suddenly, a scream interrupted her reading. She hopped on her feet in alarm, dropping her book on her remaining warm stool. Her hand instinctively slid into the pocket of her gown and wrapped around her wand. Someone squealed again, and it's from the outside.

_Something's happening out there._

Two customers returned their books to the shelves before they sprinted out of the bookstore in terror. Gripping her wand tightly, she hastily rushed towards the entrance of the bookshop, leaving her book on the floor. Hermione observed the street through the shop window warily. People were running in the same direction as if they're trying to flee from something. Then startled by the footsteps behind her. She spun around and saw a familiar face.

"Oh, it's you," she gaped.

Malone looked just as surprised. The book in his hand slipped to the wooden floor with a clunk. Hermione bent down and picked the book up for him. She examined the book cover before handing it back to him. It's the exact same book she's reading—_The_ _Tales Told by Time-Travellers._

He recomposed himself with a smirk as he reached for the book.

"Yea, it's me."

Before she could respond, another shriek rang out. Hermione turned her head away attentively to the window again before she opened the door. More shrieks and cries reached her ears. A bunch of people were dashing out of Gringotts, the wizard's bank, strangely in panic. Horror was shown on their faces and so did the yearning for survival. Everyone tried their best to run away from the danger as fast as they could, not bothered by the idea of nudging the old and weak out of their ways or worse knocking them off. In front of Death, morals meant nothing.

An old man was sitting on the concrete ground beside the bookshop, his brows were furrowed in pain. Hermione rushed to his side. She heard Malone's footsteps as he followed suit. The aged man appeared to have sprained his ankle. With a few waves of her wand, she'd healed his injury in seconds.

"What happened?" she demanded restlessly.

Neither did the elderly answer the witch's question nor did he thank for her help. He stood up rapidly and resumed his escape, trying to catch up with the crowd. She stared at the back of the elder in astonishment. He's the last one. No one was behind him except Hermione and Malone.

"Come on, we should go," Malone urged behind her, there's a hint of distress in his tone. "Hey, what are you doing?"

Hermione ran back inside the bookstore. After a few seconds, she'd joined him again. A smile emerged on Malone's face when he saw the green garment in her arm.

"Nice cape."

"Thanks."

Abruptly, a roar came out of the bank and hit their eardrums. Then it was followed by a ringing noise like miniature hammers on anvils. They fixated their eyes on the bank opposite them with curiosity, while their grips tightened around their wands nervously. Fire suddenly came out of the entrance of the bank as the glass door was broken apart into pieces by a gigantic creature.

"It's a Ukrainian Ironbelly Dragon," informed Hermione in a trembling voice, as if trying to calm herself by reciting facts. "It's a species of dragon native to Ukraine. It is said to be the largest dragon species—"

"That really helps, Grantham," Malone interjected with a scoff. "I've learnt something today."

The dragon slowly crawled towards them, each step causing a loud thud and a violent shaking of the ground.

"Run!" yelled Malone. As he found Hermione was still gasping at the dragon in a daze, he seized her hand and forcefully dragged her away from the approaching creature.

The two ran in the opposite direction of Gringotts. The once crowded street was deserted. Their muscles were aching, but they didn't dare to slow down. Once the dragon was out of sight, they halted in sync and Malone let go of her hand immediately. They're at the entrance of Knocturn Alley.

Their chests heaved as they tried to control their breaths. Shortly, they heard the ringing noise again. They sneaked a peek behind the wall. There was a group of goblins, each of them had a clanker in hand, followed closely by the grey dragon they'd encountered earlier. The rattling sound produced by the clankers seemed to have complete control over the savage creature; it roared in agony as it heard the mechanical sound. For a moment, Hermione had thought the dragon had broken the chains like the last time and the goblins were trying to catch it until Malone spoke.

"Goblin rebellion," he exhaled. "Must be the goblins in Gringotts."

Suddenly, one of the goblins pointed its long finger at them and said something she couldn't understand.

"Shit, they've seen us," Malone cursed and pulled her by the wrist. It's no longer safe in the Wizarding World. Then he apparated them to the first Muggle place that popped up in his head.

* * *

Everything went black. After a brief moment of being pressed from all directions, their feet landed on a lawn. Hermione scanned around the surrounding. She's on a hill and there was a small village lied at the foot of it, next to a rivulet.

"Where are we?"

"Pendle Hill, Lancashire," he answered.

Although it's the first place that came to his mind, there wasn't any sweet or touching story behind it. It's one of his earliest memories—he's only 2 or 3 when his parents had taken him to this particular hill which was famous for its link to the notorious witch trials in the past. Being on top of the hill, holding his hand, his father pointed at the village at the bottom with a look of haughty disdain; he told Draco how devilish and vicious Muggles were, how Muggles had executed their wizarding fellows. His parents brought him here just to educate him that he should never get associated with Muggles and Muggles were nothing but filth.

Draco started walking down the hill and noticed that Hermione didn't follow. She's still staring at the landscape.

"It's really up to you if you wanna sleep on the hill tonight." Despite his unkind words, he lingered at the same spot and wait for her to catch up.

They hiked for an hour or two until they arrived at the foot of the hill. People perceived that they didn't live here right away, mainly because of Draco. He's the odd one out. His expensive, upper-class outfit just attracted too many stares. A few villagers came up to him and respectfully asked how they could help. With the solicitous help of the inhabitants, the two wizards settled down at the only inn in the village. It's tiny, shabby and crude. They'd got the last available room, which to their relief was a double room. At least their room wasn't too small.

The "ancient" double bed squeaked when Draco slumped into it. Too many things had taken place in one day and he was exhausted. The goblins making such a scene was unexpected. No one could be certain about what the goblins were going to do next. However, there's one thing he could be sure—the Wizarding World was no longer safe. Who'd have guessed that Draco Muggle-hating Malfoy would flee to Muggles for shelter?

Hermione, on the other hand, was on the couch, holding her knees to her chest. She knew that it's going to take some time for the rebellion to ease off, which meant she's going to be wasting her time in a Muggle village for a while, unable to do her research, getting stuck in the bloody 17th century. She missed her friends and family so much. What if she could never leave and had to live here for the rest of her life and die alone?

Her vision got blurry as tears drained out of her eyes. She buried her face in her knees, not wanting her weak side to be seen. Nonetheless, Draco heard her muffled sniffs which cause him to groan inwardly. He's terrible at handling crying girls. He rose to his feet and got closer to the witch anxiously.

Placing his palm on her knee, he knelt down in front of her. Since he's scared his nasty mouth would only make things worse, he didn't say anything and squeezed her knee instead. He kept his hand there until the brunette had calmed down; she tilted her head up and her swollen eyes met his concerned ones. He could see the drying traces of tears on her cheeks.

As if trying to tell him she's alright, she forced a smile onto her face. At the sight of the unconvincing curve, a few words slipped out of his mouth.

"You'll be home soon. You'll be fine."

Instantly, her chocolate eyes were filled with tears again. _Oh,_ _fuck me, Merlin,_ he thought. He had no clue why she's crying once again. What had he done wrong? Her tears streamed down her cheeks as she suddenly laughed. Draco looked at her like she suddenly sprouted three heads. But shortly, the corners of his lips twitched upwards involuntarily and a foreign sound escaped his mouth. How long hadn't he had a genuine laugh?

"Thank you, Malf—Malone," she wiped her eyes as her laughter faded out. "I'm feeling better now."

Even though they're merely reassuring words, that's what Hermione needed. Hermione had almost forgotten he's not the "evil little cockroach" who'd gone the same school with her; the idea of getting comforted by Draco Malfoy was ridiculous and it made her laugh.

"Great," he grinned as he gave a few pats on her lap.

* * *

Later, after they filled their stomach at the same inn, they went out to the market. Since they left in such a hurry, none of them had brought many belongings with them. They needed a few sets of clothes. Before they purchased the items, Hermione hoicked Draco away from the checkout counter by his arm.

"What?" he scowled.

"I just realized I don't have any Muggle money!" she whispered.

Draco headed back to the counter with a smug smile while he thrust his hand into the pocket of his breeches. _Oh no,_ thought Hermione. _He__'s not going to use magic, is he?_ She rushed to him and grabbed his arm. But it's too late. He had already taken his hand out of the pocket. However, instead of a wand, he's holding a drawstring pouch. Draco raised his brow at the witch as she sighed in relief and let go of his elbow.

He opened the pouch and turned it upside down, pouring everything out on the table. Repetitive dull noises were produced when the coins hit the wooden table and formed a little pile. He leaned against the counter and asked the stunned shopkeeper condescendingly, "So, how much?"

It took the shopkeeper a few seconds to shut his mouth before he hastily collected several coins on the table.

"That's enough," he replied quietly. His voice was shaking.

When they're leaving the shop, the shopkeeper bowed at them and hysterically said "thank you" far too many times that if Hermione didn't know better, she'd think he'd gone mad. She felt bad for the poor Muggle. As they headed towards their inn, Hermione couldn't resist the urge to "educate" the man next to her.

"Why did you do that?" asked Hermione disapprovingly.

"Did what?"

"Like showing off your money?"

He mocked, "So, you think having a small pouch of coins is rich?"

"That's not what I mean!"

"Honestly, Grantham, if I really want to show off, I'll have to hire at least a hundred servants in the first place, to carry the gold in my family vault," he nonchalantly declared a big statement. "Besides, it's not like I need to show off, isn't it? They can tell I'm rich by the look of my outfit."

Hermione couldn't deny that. Everyone here looked at him in awe whenever he walked passed them.

They walked in silence afterwards. The village was small, and it didn't have many shops here; most houses were residence. As they reached the entrance of their inn, Draco mumbled something under his breath. But she could hear it, anyway.

"I just don't understand the Muggle currency."

He didn't want to admit that there's something he didn't know. She suppressed a smile and followed the blond back to their room.

At that night, before they slept, Hermione had doubled the size of the bed, turning it into a super-king-size, so none of them had to sleep on the floor or sneak into other's bed in the middle of the night. They could have enough room to roll around without invading other's personal space.

* * *

**Author's note:**

Yesterday, someone asked me a question and I'd love to answer it.

Q: How do they not recognize each other? They don't just resemble Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger—they *are* them!

A: They just couldn't believe it. From Hermione's perspective, all time-turners in the UK were stored in the Time Room and they had all travelled along with her to 1612. From Draco's perspective, all time-turners in the Ministry were unusable. The only usable time-turner in the UK was in his possession. Besides, it's almost impossible to meet another time-traveller. The chance of meeting another time-traveller in 4 centuries ago is extremely low. I know many people are going to skip this, but let's do some simple boring math:

_Jul 22 1612 - Jul 22 1999 (387 years in total and 94 leap years)_

_387 x 365 + 94 = 141,349 days_

_And before Hermione got there, Draco had stayed for about a month, let say 30 days._

_141,349 - 30 = 141,319_

_Probability of travelling back to one of the days where Draco was present_

_= 1/141319 = _**_0.00000707618_**

Also, don't forget we still haven't counted the possibility of them both appeared at the same place, making the whole thing more impossible. It's fairly reasonable for them to completely deny the idea that the other was also from their time!

I hope I've answered your question! Last but not least, thank you for taking the time to read my story!


	8. Unexpected Attack

_Aug 17 1612 (Friday)_

Although Malone was rich, they're running out of money. The Muggle money in Malone's pouch was almost gone after staying in Downham Village for a week. The money they currently had could only afford them one more night at the inn. Hermione suggested that they should get a job, however, Malone dismissed the idea immediately.

"You asked me to go to work for the Muggles? This is the funniest thing I've ever heard in a while," he snorted. "I'd rather kill myself."

"I know the idea is absurd to you, if you don't want to do it, I'll do it for us," Hermione sighed. After hanging around with this wizard for a week, she'd learnt how much of a snob he was. She'd already predicted his response before she suggested anything.

"No, you won't."

"May I ask, why?"

"Because I'm heading to Gringotts," Malone stated dryly.

"You didn't tell me that." Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and frowned. "You know how dangerous it's gonna be, right? We don't know what's in the goblin's mind!"

"You're right. But I'm going, anyway," he mindlessly replied as he put on his black cloak.

"I'm going with you," Hermione rose to her feet and reached for her cape.

"No," he froze her motions with his unwavering gaze and said firmly. "You stay here. I'll get us some money and be back before sunset."

Hermione could see the determination in his grey eyes; he wouldn't change his mind no matter what she said. Therefore, she nodded and let him go reluctantly.

"Oh, wait. Can you bring a few books for me too?" She jogged to the table and scribbled something on a small piece of parchment. "On the second floor, the last bookcase on the left. Tap these books with your wand. You must follow the order on this list," she explained as she handed him the note. "Then you'll see a room. Go inside and there are some books on a desk. Just randomly pick a few of them."

Malone nodded and shoved the parchment into his pocket. Before he apparated, Hermione clutched his arm and whispered, "Be safe."

His lips curled into a smile as he covered her hand with his. "Don't wander around. I'll be back soon, Bookworm," he teased. In seconds, he vanished right before her with a "pop", leaving her alone with the warmth remaining on the back of her hand.

* * *

The once crowded wizard's commercial district had become lifeless. It reminded him of the time when the Dark Lord was back. Most of the stores were closed and there were only a few people here and there. Draco hid his wand under his cloak and strode along the emptied street.

Shortly, he arrived at Gringotts. Shattered pieces of glass had scattered around the entrance and he had to be very careful not to step on any sharp pieces. He got into the bank cautiously. The bank surprisingly was still running as he caught a few goblins were counting golds and doing paperwork. The one who's the closest to him look up from its work and inquired what he wanted. Draco took out the key of his family vault and gave it to the creature. The goblin examined the golden key for a few seconds.

"Okay, follow me, Mr Malfoy." It hopped off its stool and gestured Draco to get on a little cart.

After a brief ride through the maze of twisting passages, they're at the Malfoys' vault. The outside of the vault didn't change a bit in the following years. The goblin inserted the key into the keyhole before the door opened itself, revealing the mountains of gold inside. Draco snatched a few handfuls of Galleons and put them into a pouch which wasn't the one he'd filled with Muggle money. This pouch had been enchanted with an Undetectable Extension Charm. He'd stored all his very personal and precious properties in it so he could keep them to himself wherever he went.

Before he left the bank, he gave the goblin a chunk of Galleons and requested to exchange them for Muggle money. When he left, his other pouch had been swollen with pound coins. After that, he wasted no time and approached the building opposite him.

Draco peeked inside Flourish and Blotts and it's dark. The door was unlocked, implying that no one had come back to run their business after Grantham's leave, even though the shop was intact during the commotion a week ago. He cast a Lumos and stepped up the stairs. He turned left once he reached the second floor.

After walking past all the towering bookcases at the front, he paused in his tracks as he found the bookcase resting against the wall. Grantham's room was right behind it. To get inside, according to the witch's instruction, he needed to tap on the correct books in the correct order. He reached for the note in his pocket and it's a long list of book titles:

_House-Elves & Self-Hatred_

_Elves and Goblins_

_Runelore: The Hidden Codes_

_Mermish Dictionary_

_Immortality: The Darkest Magic_

_Owls' Magical Talents_

_Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy_

_Encyclopaedia of Magical Creatures_

It took some time for Draco to locate all the copies. As soon as he touched the eight books in the right order, the bookcase split into half and displayed a door. Draco pushed it open and walked inside. The desk she'd mentioned was right across the entrance and there were two stacks of books facing him. _Grantham, This is definitely not "some" books._

Feeling curious about what the witch liked to read, he studied the piles of books—_The Secrets of Time-Travel, How Magic Interferes Time, Messing with Time... _Every single book was related to time-travel. She must be really interested in this magic field. Was it only a coincidence? She didn't know he's a time-traveller, right? He didn't recall himself acting strange or saying anything weird in front of her.

Draco decided not to over-interpret things. He randomly selected four books before he carried them downstairs in his arm. His missions had been finished smoothly and there's still some time before the sun set. Therefore, instead of apparating back to the Muggle village, he moved towards the Leaky Cauldron. His suitcase was still lying inside the wardrobe of his room.

He didn't lower his guard when he entered the inn. It was completely black with no lighted candles or torches. With the brightness on the tip of his wand, he had a good view of the dining area. Although the famous wizard's pub was shabby and dark, it was never a mess. Glass containers were smashed into pieces; chairs and stools were knocked over on the floor which was covered with clotting blood. He followed the bloodstain, making sure that the red didn't get on his leather shoes in the meantime.

His eyes enlarged as he spotted a bald man lying in a pool of blood. He recognized it was the owner of the inn. The man's clothes had been dyed into dark red; he had a long deep cut in the chest and several slits in his arms and legs. He's badly mutilated. Squatting next to him, Draco outstretched his arm and placed his finger under the man's nostrils. Draco slowly withdrew his arm and sighed. _He's dead._

While wondering where the man had got the injuries from, he went upstairs to his room. His room was just as clean as the time he'd headed out to the bookstore a week ago. With a few flicks of his wand, he gathered all his belongings and Grantham's book into his suitcase in seconds.

For their guests' privacy, you couldn't apparate in the inn. Draco had to get out of the building in order to apparate. Carrying his leather suitcase, he hurried down the stairs. Draco carefully stepped astride the corpse to get to the exit. Before he pushed the door open, he darted a glance at the dead body over his shoulder. It's not like he could do anything about it. He didn't know where he could seek help or let anyone know about the death of the pub owner. The Ministry of Magic didn't exist in 1612.

Suddenly, he felt a strong hold around his ankle, causing him to drop his suitcase in astonishment. He lowered his head and pointed his lighted wand to his foot. A short, stocky man had wrapped his hand around his leg. However, it's not exactly a man. It's a dwarf. Fear surged through Draco's body when he saw the axe in its hand. Aiming at his leg, the creature gave its axe a swing. The blade was merely inches away from his flesh before Draco reflexively cast a Banishing Charm.

"Depulso."

The dwarf let go of his ankle instantly as an invisible force hit right into its chest, driving its tiny body into the air towards the wall across. The small humanoid bumped into the bricks and the collision had induced it to lose hold of its axe, followed by a clinking sound that was produced when the metal blade hit the floor.

"That was close," murmured Draco. His hand shifted to his forehead, pushing his white-blond fringe out of his sight. He'd almost lost a leg for Merlin's sake. He approached the fainted being attentively before he kicked the axe away from the dwarf by its wooden handle. Then he bent down and inspected the axe closely. The blade was coated with congealed crimson. Apparently, the inn owner was murdered by this dwarf.

Despite their super-strength, dwarves were pretty tamed and calm. Draco had never heard of dwarves attacked anyone unless someone's trying to steal the treasures of or harm their master. It made everything more unreasonable. Dwarves worked at the Leaky Cauldron, suggested that the inn owner was their master. Then why would a dwarf kill its master all of a sudden? _Hang on, where are the other dwarves though?_

There was an abrupt noise coming from the kitchen. Driven by his anxiety and distress, Draco retreated to the exit, holding his wand tightly. In the blink of an eye, five or six dwarves, each one had an axe in hand, dashed out of the kitchen towards him. Draco picked up his suitcase on the ground and ran out of the inn. The dwarves were howling and swinging their weapons when Draco apparated hurriedly.

_What the hell is going on with this world?_

* * *

**Author's note:**

I'm not going to update every day after today since I'm getting busier. I'll try my best to update once a week though. Don't worry, I won't just leave this piece of work undone because I really like the plot so much.

And please tell me what you think because I'd love to hear your opinions!


	9. Herd Behaviour

_Aug 17 1612 (Friday)_

Letting Malone go to Diagon Alley alone wasn't a good idea, but she could finally have some alone time, some time for doing things she couldn't do when he's around. Once Malone was gone, she took out her Time-Turners from the pocket of her day gown and laid them on the table. She didn't have much time. Malone would probably be back in two hours.

She picked up one of the Time-Turners and examined it intently. It's made of silver, and like the others, it had an hourglass but the sand inside was gleaming black. It's the one that had taken her here. She by no means wanted to give another turn to the device, she gingerly put it back on the table before plunging deep in her contemplation.

_Since it took me here, it must've somehow formed a passage to connect the present and the time here. It must be the key to get back to my own time. If I know how to get back into the passage, technically I should be able to go home, but how?_

_If I can't find the passage, can I use a Time-Turner to travel back to the future? But as far as I know, Time-Turners can only reverse time, but not speed up time. Is it possible to create a Time-Turner that can take people to the future?_

Hermione groaned in frustration. There's not much she could do at the moment. The Time-Turners in front of her were basically useless if they could only reverse time; she had no interest to get any deeper into the past. She couldn't imagine how worse things could go if she's in any much earlier year.

The clock on the table told her that an hour had passed already. She should tidy up the things, otherwise, Malone would have seen something he shouldn't see. It would be a trouble to obliviate him. Getting familiar with one was bad enough. Messing up with one's mind was worse. The future depends on what people think and do today. It's not a sensible move unless you had no other choice. In this case, she could just avoid this bad situation from happening.

After shoving the Time-Turners into her commoner's gown, she decided to go out for a walk. She needed some fresh air. For the past week, they'd spent most of their time at their room since Malone didn't want to associate with Muggles unless it's vital. Every time she proposed going outside, Malone just drawled, "Go ahead since you're so desperate to get burnt by Muggles."

Malone had a point though. Living in a place surrounded by Muggles was dangerous. Plus, they had witch-hunters here. Things could go dreadful if you did something they found odd.

Although she's not against Muggles as Malone was, she didn't want to get too close to Muggles either, especially after seeing how they had executed a witch in front of her. She could just remain at their room as long as she had something to read. On their second day in the Muggle village, to not feel that she owed the wizard more, Hermione had given Malone a portion of her Galleons, no matter he liked it or not. Since a part of the money was hers, she'd well used that and forced Malone to buy a few Muggle books.

Malone wasn't interested at first because he didn't want to get "contaminated" by Muggle's culture. However, after devoting a day to mindlessly fiddling his wand, he grabbed a book and read too. Although he claimed the book was rubbish, he reached for another one after completing the first. Hermione swore she had seen him smiled when he's reading, but the blond wouldn't admit.

Before she left the inn, she considered casting a Disillusionment Charm on herself but dismissed the idea quickly. It's a bit too crowded outside. She could've bumped into someone and caused suspicion.

In the little market of Downham Village, from vegetables and meat to hand tools and weapons; you could find most of the daily necessities there. The village was self-sufficient. As she wandered, some villagers recognized her and greeted her with a welcoming smile. Some enthusiastically asked her where Mr Malone was and how he's feeling about their village. Hermione just brushed them off with the answers they wished to hear.

Soon, the sun was disappearing, so as the people on the road. She watched the sun set at the horizon, spreading its largess into a grateful sky. Rich hues of red blended with oranges, purples, crimsons. It's time to go back to their room. Malone had probably been back from Diagon Alley. Hermione spun around and headed towards their inn along the route she'd come up earlier.

When she's walking past a store, she heard a female's shrieks. She halted at the spot and frowned. Promptly, a man dragged out a woman by her wrist of the shop and motioned the others to gather around. People complied curiously and formed a circle around the two. Hermione, being confused, joined as well and watched.

The woman was likely in her 70s. She writhed, trying to free herself from the man's strong hold. Her protruding teeth were displayed when she cried in agony.

"This woman is a witch! See her squint eye? She must've sold her soul to the devil!" the middle-aged man exclaimed as he forced the aged lady to face the crowd so everyone could have a clear look.

"No, I'm not a witch! Please, trust me!" The woman pleaded in a squeaky voice, her tears rolled down her wrinkled face.

"Just stop it already. We all know you have a Puritan background," scorned the man.

One of the crowd went along after that. "I knew it when I first saw her!"

The statement triggered a knock-on effect instantly. People started nodding their heads and agreeing one by one, saying how weird the woman was, how her face scared them. Some even started making up stories about how the woman had murdered her husband and her children.

The suspected women wailed, "I'm not a witch! Please—"

She paused in the middle of a sentence as the man slapped her face hard; Hermione shivered at the sudden sound. "We'll know the truth very soon." He roughly pinned the lady against the wall, hitting her face and chest on the wall, causing her to yelp in pain. The man pulled out a piece of string from his belt and bound it around the woman's wrists from behind skilfully. At that moment, Hermione had acknowledged that he's a witch-hunter.

_She's just an old lady for Merlin's sake! How can he do that to her?_

"Stop it!"

The pack fell silent. Everyone stopped in their tracks. Every head swung to her. Every eye fixated on her.

"She's just an old lady, why are you doing that to her?" asked Hermione in a trembling voice.

"Because she's a witch! Isn't that obvious?" The witch-hunter finished his ropework and scowled at her.

"How did you know that? Did you see her use magic?" she challenged.

The witch-hunter stared at her and couldn't utter a word. Hermione ignored him and strolled around, asking the crowd one by one, "So did you see her use magic? No? How about you? Did you?" After questioning everyone, Hermione continued with her chest puffed out, "No one has seen this old lady use magic. So, tell me, why is she a witch?"

None of them could answer her. People here only followed what they perceived their fellows were doing, rather than their own analysis. They just believed what others believed or what they wanted to believe.

"Imagine someone makes allegations of witchcraft against your wife, your daughter or your mother. Your beloved ones have to get interrogated and tortured with water and fire only because everyone believes something with no evidence. Is that okay for you?" she added.

Some of them gawked at her in surprise while some bent their heads down as if they're guilty about what they had just done. But none dared to answer any of her questions because deep down they knew she's right.

The first one who recomposed from the shock was the witch-hunter. He nudged the old lady out of his way, causing her to fall down with a whimper. Hermione stepped back as the man approached her with a malicious sneer.

"Well, well, I think we just found another witch here," announced the witch-hunter.

With only one simple sentence, the villagers regained their spirits.

"Of course, she's a witch! She's so close to Mr Malone but look at her clothes!" This was the woman who had just brightly asked her Malone's opinions on their village.

"She must've bewitched him!" This was the man who had gladly taken them to the inn they're staying at.

"She's a witch!"

They started whooping and pushing her, showing despise on their faces. Hermione was astounded by the drastic change of situation. One second before people were reflecting on their actions, one second later it's like they had been brain-washed and were accusing her of witchcraft only because she's pointing out the truth.

"Get her!" a man roared.

People pounced on her and yanked her in various directions all at once. Her arms got dragged violently, she felt like they had been almost pulled out of her shoulder sockets. Her scalp burnt as people tugged her curls ruthlessly. Someone had kicked her in the shin, her knees fell to the ground but the pain was nothing compared to the other parts of her body. She wanted her wand. She just needed an Immobulus to freeze every one of them. However, she could just curl up and let them tow her, kick her and humiliate her.

Rough materials ground against her wrists as she got tied from behind. Soon, she was obliged to stand up with her wobbling legs. She was dizzy and every part of her body ached. Owing to all the atrocity she'd received, she couldn't walk fast. To make her keep up with the pace, they jostled her in the back, causing her to lose her balance every time. She didn't know where they're taking her to, but she's sure it's a place where an uncivilized trial was awaiting her.

* * *

**Author's note:**

I have to thank all those who have commented! I'm so glad to have received some constructive reviews! They triggered me to think more deeply and adjust the plot. I have to admit that I've made Hermione a bit too docile in the previous chapters, but I hope I can make up for it in the future.

The two were pretty passive in the story because they're too scared to get involved in the mess, they're afraid that interfering the past too much would harm not only the time but also themselves. All they needed was a way to go home, not to fix any problem that should've happened in the past.

Anyway, thanks for reading my story. I know it's not the best out there, but thank you for giving it a try!


	10. Witches' Mark

_Aug 17 1612 (Friday)_

The sun hid behind the mountains, leading the warmth away; the night dominated the lands and engulfed everything with gloom. Hermione shivered as the breeze swept across her bruises and wounds. Only two men remained to escort her and the old lady to the "castle" which she'd overheard when they're talking amongst themselves. It's been a long walk before they reached the edge of a forest where a horse-drawn wagon and a man with a torch were awaiting them. The suspected witches were thrown onto the vehicle, both of them landed on the wood with their shoulders, producing a heavy thump accompanied by whimpers of pain.

One man sat at the front to drive, while the other two joined them at the back to make sure they wouldn't escape. Soon, Hermione felt the vibrations underneath her body as the wood consistently collided with her side. It's dark and she couldn't see a thing except for the silhouettes of the men and woman next to her. She could hear leaves and grass rustling when their wagon was heading through the forest.

She discovered that she had fallen asleep when she got slapped in the face. Blinking her eyes in bewilderment, she was snatched by her arm and forced to get off the wagon. Her knees and hands sank to the rock-strewn ground, the sharp, uneven stones had ground into her meat. When she's trying to wipe the sand off her bleeding palms, someone had tugged her to stand up. Once she got on her feet, she got a nudge in the back, causing her to stumble. The men led them to hike up the grassy hill until an enormous building came in sight. It's the castle they'd mentioned earlier.

The men hustled them through the archway of the castle. She struggled to keep track of their route and failed after taking so many twists in the maze-like building. The only thing she's aware of was they're going down, instead of up. They halted as a man sought for his keys. Soon, he unlocked the gate and jostled them to get inside. The dungeon comprised rows of tiny rooms, the door of each was metal barred.

The men didn't untie them before they're tossed into two separated cells. Before Hermione could give any response, the barred door was slammed closed. With her side against the cold rugged floor, she squirmed and kicked as she attempted to switch to a sitting position. After many tries, she finally could rest her side against the brick wall. Supporting herself with the wall, she wiggled her wrists, trying to free herself from the tight knot. However, the more she struggled, the deeper the strings sank into her flesh. The fact that her wand was only inches away only made her more frustrated. Was she going to die here? Was she never going to see her friends and family again?

_No, I won't die here,_ she assured herself.

* * *

His heavy suitcase dropped to the floor once he was at their room again. He slumped into the couch and settled his nape on its back with his legs crossed. Then a long sigh of relief escaped his mouth.

He'd assumed that he might get attacked by goblins or a dragon, but a group of dwarves? No. Dwarves were mostly found underground to guard treasures for whoever was ruling over them. They only attacked when people tried to get close to the objects they're guarding or to harm their master. Attacking a wizard was weird enough, not to say killing their own master. Back in the day at Hogwarts, although he'd dozed a lot in History of Magic, he had done thorough revisions every time before exams. He didn't remember there was any rebellion planned by dwarves.

"Oi, Grantham, since you're such a bookworm, do you know anything about dwarves?" he called lazily, peering at the ceiling.

His ears were ready to listen to her rambling on the topic for five minutes straight. However, she didn't reply to his question.

"Stop reading and answer me." He's getting impatient. "Grantham? Your books are in my suitcase, I reckon you don't want them back?"

She still said nothing even after he'd threatened her. He furrowed his brows in irritation and leaned forward, only to find the chamber was empty. Pushing his hair back, he exhaled, _told her not to wander around already._ He decided to take a nap while waiting for her to come back.  
His gaze landed on the clock as he woke up on the couch. Then he scanned around the room, expecting a certain female voice to call him a pig, but the room was quiet. The only thing he could hear was his steady breath. _It's ten o'clock, where the hell is she? _

Suddenly, a thought emerged in his head—maybe she wouldn't be back; she chose to leave without saying goodbye because she felt she'd owed him too much. He knew she didn't want any of his help on the first day. He only selfishly forced her to accept his help because he wanted to satisfy his need for redemption.

Her Muggle books were on the bedside table, and her nightgown and cape were in the wardrobe. Her not bringing anything he'd bought for her fired a tingly feeling to his heart. He knew they would take various paths one day, but he didn't expect that coming so soon. But he couldn't help but feel—_disappointed. But why should I be disappointed? I should be thrilled that no one will force me to read Muggle's books and listen to her reciting an entire book again. I should go downstairs and celebrate. _

After stepping down the stairs, he habitually ordered some food, plus a bottle of wine this time. When the waiter served him the meal, he realized that the amount of food was too much for himself to eat alone. For the past week, he'd been ordering food that's meant for two people and it had somehow become a habit. Raising his glass of wine, he cheered to himself with a dry laugh. "Finally, I can have the huge bed all by myself."

That night, despite the giant size of the bed, Draco took the part that's away from the wall, preserving the other for the witch as usual.

* * *

The next day, Hermione woke up as sunshine passed through the barred window and perched on her face. Her mouth was dry, not a single drop of water had been downed her throat since she'd left the inn. But she didn't care. If she could get out of here, she could drink as much as she wanted.

She squirmed to the door slowly before she struck the metal bars with her shoulder. "Help! I need to pee!" she shouted in a cracked voice. "Is anyone out there?"

Her yell had woken up the others. The woman in the opposite room moved closer to her door and gawked at Hermione with a pair of sunken eyes. Her black hair was long and messy, her skin was grey and her cheeks were hollow. Hermione wondered how long she'd been prisoned since she looked sluggish as if her soul had been sucked away by Dementors.

Soon, Hermione heard the gate was unlocked—some kind of prison guard had heard her. "I want to pee, please!" she cried, hoping the guard would untie her so she could get her wand.  
A bulky man who's holding a pike halted at her cell and inserted his key into the lock. Hermione stifled a smile as the man opened the door and entered the cell. However, instead of undoing the bind around her wrists, he placed something on the ground. After that, he locked the door and left.

She studied the wooden bucket on the floor. It's a chamber potty for her excretion. Then Hermione yelled again, "Help! Sir, please help me!"

The guard stepped back to her cell, scowling at her. "What is it this time?" he spat.  
"Sir, I can't make to the toilet if my hands are bound this way. Can you let me go for a minute? You can tie me up again after I finish."

"I'm afraid I can't let you go even if it's only for a few seconds," the guard replied flatly.  
"Or can you rebind me from the front, please?" she begged sincerely. If her wrists were tied up from the front, her arms would gain more freedom and she could take her wand out of her pocket.

He pondered for a few seconds. "All right, then."

The guard was unknotting her ropes when loud footsteps echoed through the dungeon and a group of people showed up at her cell.

"What are you doing?" a male voice froze the movements of the prison guard.

Hermione recognized that he's the witch-hunter she'd encountered the previous night.

"Oh, she has difficulties going to the toilet this way," explained the guard sheepishly.

"Never mind, I'll handle her. You can go now." The witch-hunter gestured the guard to leave before he and his gangs went into the tiny chamber. His people were all female, and every one of them was staring at her with contempt. "Remember to check every corner. It may be hidden at the most private spot," the man commanded as he retreated out of the cell with a sneer.

It's a group of four. She felt grips around her biceps as the strings around her wrist were loosened. Both of her arms were tugged up forcefully and fixed on the wall. Fingers worked skilfully on her buttons; her shoulder was exposed as one side of her gown was yanked down, in seconds, the other side followed suit. She writhed frantically and mustered every ounce of her strength to swing her arms and legs. However, all of her efforts were in vain. Her gown fell along her legs and gathered at her ankles to the filthy ground. She'd been stripped down to her undergarments. Chilly air tickled her bared flesh, sending goosebumps to every part of her skin.

"This looks strange." A woman commented on her cotton bra. "Never see this style nor this kind of material."

They spun her around to face the wall before they started removing her underwear. She clenched her knees together when her knickers were being tugged down. But the garment joined the pool of fabric at her ankle in seconds. They struggled a while with her bra before they slid the straps off her shoulders and pulled it down along her abdomen and legs until it dropped to the pile of fabric on the ground.

Shortly, Hermione had been obliged to face the group. Embarrassed by the inspective gazes, she longed to cover her naked body with her arms, unfortunately, they're pinned at the sides of her head, each held firmly by a woman. The other two female approached her, one of them knelt before her, with a straight razor in her hand. Hermione shut her eyes in fear as the coldness of the blade landed on her sensitive part. It went up and down, left and right; curls fell off in the process, exposing her most private spot.

The two began to study her body, starting from her feet. Their fingers and gazes trailed along her legs then to her thighs, gradually travelled up to her pelvis. Hermione closed her legs instinctively but they pushed her thighs open to examine the inner parts as well. Mortification poured out of her eyes in the form of tears when they pried open the folds of her lady part. Their fingers tugged at and rubbed on her skin as they concentrated on the spot. Hermione would've fallen on her bottom if her wrists weren't held up. Finally, their hands moved away and pursued their work on her upper body. After inspecting her torso, they proceeded to her arms. Shortly, the woman on her left paused at her forearm, observing the words embedded in her skin.

"What is this?" she demanded while her fingertips rubbed on the pinkish alphabets. "Is this your witches' mark?"

"It's just a scar," murmured Hermione.

The woman frowned at her in disbelief. "A scar? This—This is an English word, right?"

Hermione didn't reply and looked away.

"Girl, spill it out," threatened the woman. Her hand wrapped around Hermione's throat while her fingers slowly sank into the meat. "What does it mean?"

"I don't know! Trust me!" cried Hermione. "It's a scar! I got abused by my stepfather when I was young. He'd carved this into my skin! I don't know what it means!"

The grip finally let go of her neck. Hermione coughed as the woman took out a small case on which had a flower embroidered. The middle-aged lady opened the case and displayed a set of needles. Picking one of them out, she instructed the other lady to lower Hermione's arm. Hermione whimpered as the sharp tip pierced into her old scar mercilessly. The needle consistently pricked her forearm, stabbing in and out, blood started gushing out.

It felt like ages. When they'd finished their investigation and let go of her arms, Hermione slid down the wall and collapsed to the frigid floor. Her watery eyes settled on her left arm—the faint pink had turned into crimson; the once vague memory had become vivid when the word "Mudblood" was carved into her flesh again.

* * *

**Author's note:**

This chapter is dark. I dunno what to say. Sorry, Hermione, that you had to go through all these things.

Thank you for all the reviews! I'll try my best to write better!


	11. Trigger Word

_A__ug__ 18 1612 (Saturday)_

Draco punched the table fiercely; his cup was knocked down while the tea spilt everywhere.

He was having his breakfast when the inn owner informed him the news that Grantham had been suspected of witchcraft the previous night. "Why didn't you tell me last night? Where is she?"

"Sir, I'm not sure—"

He howled, "Where is she?"

"Probably in Lancaster Castle. Most suspects are—"

Draco didn't wait for the man to finish. He seized his cloak and ran out of the inn.

Unfortunately, he'd never been to the castle before. He couldn't apparate to a place he didn't know. Draco cursed under his breath as he dashed to the entrance of the village where people could take carriages. Before he hopped on a carriage, he shoved a pound coin into the coachman's hand and ordered him to drive as fast as possible to Lancaster Castle.

Rhythmic steps rang out as the horses took him into the forest. He glanced out of the window as a train of thoughts flowed to his head. His parents had told him about witch trials and how barbaric Muggles could be.

After an accused had been arrested, his or her body would be stripped, shaved and searched for any peculiarities. Muggles believed that all witches and wizards had a witches' mark waiting to be found. A witches' mark was believed to be the permanent marking of the Devil on his initiates to seal their obedience and service to him, therefore it's called "a devil's mark" as well. If unusual marks were found, the spots were pricked, and if no pain was felt or they didn't bleed, it was surely the mark of the Devil.

Those who didn't admit to being a witch and under heavy suspicion were usually induced to confess by way of torture. One method was dunking, in which the accused would be held underwater repeatedly until they were successfully broken down.

Another means of torture designed to make the accuser talk, but made it impossible for them to talk, much less breathe. Called "pressing," the subject was placed beneath heavy stones, meant to literally crush you into submission.

Last but not least, bound submersion; essentially the alleged witch would be bound at the hands and feet—with heavy rocked attached—and thrown into a body of water. If the body floated to the surface, that was proof that the accused was indeed a witch. If she sank to the bottom—and inevitably drowned—she was innocent. Under this test, even if the accused was innocent, they'd be drown to death.

None of these practices was actual punishments, they're only examinations. However, they were already much worse than a Cruciatus Curse. The true torture began after one was proven to be a witch. They used several different types of penalties, but they were very likely to end with death. One of the most common sentences for a witch would be hanged or being burned at a stake.

He finger-crossed and hoped she hadn't gone through any of these yet.

* * *

She'd never been more humiliated before. But she didn't cry.

Her clothes had been taken away by the group of women for another round of investigation. Sitting naked in the corner, Hermione pulled her knees tight to her chest. She stared at her left forearm—the blood had dried up already, her old scar had become red and new again. Last time, in Malfoy Manor, she had Harry and Ron; this time, she had no one. No one would save her.

Her wand was taken away along with her garments. She didn't worry about the Muggles discovering what was inside her pocket. Although she'd cast an Undetectable Extension Charm, the pocket looked absolutely normal to Muggles and they wouldn't find anything funny in it. Her only concern was how to get back her wand before anything worse happened to her. Without her wand, even Muggles could destroy her.

Ignoring her thirst and hunger, she waited until a woman paused at her cell and returned her underwear to her. Hermione asked when she could have her clothes back and when she could leave, but the female worker ignored her and left. Then Hermione put on the items she had received immediately.

Hermione rested her chin on her knees and waited for another hour. Hopefully, they'd give her back her gown after the inspection. Her eyes closed as she pondered her next move. If the Muggles continued to suspect her, she'd be taken outside to go through other tests, most likely only in her undergarments. She wouldn't have a chance to lay her hand on her gown again. She must get back her clothes before they tortured her with other merciless methods. Suddenly, a furious shout reverberated around the dungeon, making her shudder and darted her eyes around alertly.

"You thought she'd bewitched me? You thought she's my mistress? Oh, bugger off. This is nothing but an insult. Why would I degrade myself to be with a bloody lower-class? She's my fucking servant, you stupid people! I reckon you all want your village to be razed to the ground? Open the door already!"

Soon, she caught sight of a white-blond head stood at her door while the prison guard hastily opened the door. He strutted into her cell and knelt before her. His grey eyes pierced into her chocolate ones with worry, then he removed his cloak from his arm and wrapped it around her small form. He gingerly put on her shoes for her before his eyes glared daggers at the people behind him, displaying pure loath. When the stormy eyes shifted back to her, they became subdued again. His arm folded around her shoulder and supported her to get on her feet.

"Give me her clothes and get out of my fucking way," he spat.

A woman passed him a dirty gown obediently with her head bent low. He yanked the garment with his free hand before he carried her to leave. She leaned against his firm figure as they slowly stepped up the stairs, stealing the warmth she lacked from him. Hermione looked up at him, her eyes roamed along his jawline to his pointy chin then to his eyes which were fixed ahead. She never expected Malone to come, they're only acquaintances after all.

They left the castle and headed towards the carriage which was down the sloop. He helped her get into the cart before taking the seat next to her. Clutching his cloak closer, she inhaled the scent remained on the wrought. The smells of applewood and peppermint calmed her down and made her feel secure. As the carriage moved, Hermione stared out of the window and neglected the pair of eyes which were observing her intently.

Listening to the rapid footsteps of the horses and whooshing sounds of leaves, none of them spoke during their way back to Downham Village.

* * *

Draco helped her rest on the bed and pulled out her shoes once they'd made to their room. He poured her a glass of water which she gulped it down in one go instantly. He asked her what she wanted to eat, but she just shook her head.

Even though she didn't cry or break down, he noticed she's anything far from okay. Every time he looked at her, she just dodged his gaze. He figured out that she didn't want to show her weak side in front of him, so he didn't push things and let her be. When he's moving to the couch, he felt a tug at his sleeve and his eyes met the pleading ones of hers.

As soon as he provided the company she needed, she rested her head on his shoulder while still gripping the cloak tightly around her. Their eyes both hooked on the wall opposite them, staring into space. They just sat there, leaning against each other in silence.

Draco sneaked a peek at the witch when his shoulder started losing feelings due to the weight of her head. He discovered that her eyes were shut closed and her breath was deep and steady. After laying her on the mattress gently, he took off the cloak and exposed her injuries. His heart sank at her terribly damaged body. He drew out his wand and gave it a flick to Scourgify her filthy body before he trailed its tip along the wounds on her knees, the wounds healed up and the skin looked smooth again. He shifted it to her bruised stomach afterwards, in seconds, the purplish spots vanished the same way. Then he did the same to her other damages quickly until he angled her to reveal her inner arm. His eyes widened at the sight of the scarlet wound on her aroused the guilt deep in his bones to surge throughout his body along the fuming blood in the vessels and recalled the memory he wished to forget.

His aunt was on top of her with a dagger. Her eyes encountered his as the blade sank deep into her flesh, her eyes loaded with plea, begging for his help. But he looked away. Then screams of agony resounded through the room as the word "Mudblood" was etched into her skin, to always remind her how inferior she was.

_Could she be—Granger? No, that's impossible._

Intimidated and astonished, Draco covered the witch with the blanket hastily before he thrust his wand into his pocket, only to find that something had hindered its way. He pulled out a piece of parchment and checked what it was. It's the book list Grantham had given him. He re-read the note before the paper slipped through his fingers to the floor. He gasped as he found the hidden meaning in it when he combined the initials of the books.

**_H_**_ouse-Elves & Self-Hatred_

**_E_**_lves and Goblins_

**_R_**_unelore: The Hidden Codes_

**_M_**_ermish Dictionary_

**_I_**_mmortality: The Darkest Magic_

**_O_**_wls' Magical Talents_

**_N_**_ature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy_

**_E_**_ncyclopaedia of Magical Creatures_

"Hermione," he murmured. "She's fucking Granger."

* * *

**Author's note:**

Finally, Draco figured out that Helen Grantham was actually Hermione Granger. What would he do next? Would he tell Hermione that he's Draco Malfoy?

Thank you for the reviews. I heard some of you thought that my Hermione was too weak or too stupid or looked like a Hufflepuff rather than a Gryffindor.

I don't know, because she had stepped up for someone against injustice, she's not that weak, I guess?

For the stupid part, it's probably because the writer is too stupid to come up with any solution for the problem. I had no idea what Hermione could do under this situation especially when she didn't have her wand.

I don't know. I feel like I indeed didn't portray Hermione's character pretty well, but it's not that out of character, I guess? I want to make her more Hermione, but I don't know how. I'm so confused!

Anyway, thank you for reading my story!


	12. Tightened Thread

_Aug 18 1612 (Saturday)_

The truth hit him like a tsunami splashing on the shore. His grey eyes darted from the note on the floor to the sleeping witch who didn't have a hint of how overwhelmed by the surprise and guilt he was. A loose strand of brown curly hair fell to her face as she shifted languidly in her dream. Once he'd known the truth, he could no longer see her in the same way. Everything seemed implausible to him, he'd love to believe that he's over-analyzing, however, the word etched in her forearm had derived his certainty of the matter.

After Scourgifying himself and changing into his nightshirt, with his palm on his sweaty forehead, he sank into the couch and groaned inwardly as he rewound to the conversation they'd had in Hogsmeade. As of now, he could understand what she meant and why she'd emphasized that he wouldn't be able to help her. Her home was far, far away—it's about 400 years away; she wished to go home but didn't know how—she didn't know how to go back to their own timeline. This was the reason why she'd been reading tons of books about time-travel. The witch who's sharing the same room with him was just like him, she was trapped, and she didn't belong here. He should feel blessed to have met another time-traveller from his time despite the slim chance. It's more efficient to have two people solving the problem. However, why? Why she couldn't be others? Why she had to be Hermione Granger?

How should he face her when she's awake? Should he tell her that he's Draco Malfoy? _No, _he firmly told himself. Here was the chance Merlin had granted him to redeem himself from guilt. The chance would be ripped away once she learnt he's the man who'd made her life miserable for seven years, the man who'd refused to help when she's in a life-threatening situation because he's too selfish and coward to step forward to protect anyone. Draco wouldn't let go. He'd had enough of her haunting him in his sleep with her unnerving, miserable screams.

However, the downside was if she thought he's just another man from the past, she'd leave him one day to continue her research, to find her way back to the future on her own. The probability of meeting each other was too low if they separated again. If either of them came up with a method to go home, the other would still be stuck until they found the solution by themselves. He knew that sticking together was the best option for them both, but how? How to make her stay without telling her his real identity?

Mirth was shown on his face as an idea drove into his head. Opening his leather suitcase beside the door, he grabbed the magic books out and without checking the titles, he randomly selected one to read. He just needed to put on an act around her.

Finally, Hermione's eye had fluttered open after a long nap before she slowly switched into a sitting position. Placing his book on the table graciously, he approached her with another glass of water which had become empty in mere seconds. Draco shifted her pillow to lean against the wooden headboard before giving a push in her shoulder, leading her to rest her back against the soft, puffy material.

He sat on the edge of the bed and observed her. Uncertainty and disquiet were shown in her wavering eyes. When his hand slithered onto the back of her hand, her shoulders stiffened but she didn't reject him. Her hands were still cold, even though she'd been wrapped around by a cloak and a blanket for hours. His determined, concerned eyes pierced into the wall she'd built up around her. He finally spoke.

"Hello?" he greeted quietly.

"Hi," she whispered in a voice that's barely louder than a breath.

"I'll get you some food, okay?"

She bit her lip and nodded. Draco let go of her hand and left the room. When he was back to the room with two bowls of corn potage soup and some bread from the kitchen, the witch had her face buried in her knees which were covered by the blanket. He could hear her muffled sniffs and the occasional hiccups—she finally broke down. Placing the tray of food carefully on the bedside table, he sat on the edge of the bed, facing her, before he laid his hand on the small of her back. The sniffs turned into sobs once his hand started rubbing and patting her bare back. They didn't scare him away. He perceived she needed a good cry to release her over-flooded grief and stress. Although she didn't tell him what'd happened to her in the castle, he had guessed most parts of it by the state of her clothing and her wound when he'd found her. She'd gone through the humiliating inspection of witches' mark.

"It's okay... It's okay..." he murmured as his hand continued its soothing work.

Sobs became cries. Her emotions burst out as the invisible wall around her shattered as if water gushed out of a broken pipe. As he pulled her closer, she lifted her head from her knees and leaned it against his chest. Draco bent down and saw streams of tears trailed along her cheeks until they fell to the already damped blanket. This was the first time he saw Hermione Granger cried. Back to the days at Hogwarts, he'd wished to see her break down and cry, he'd thought it would make him feel better since she'd deserved it for being a frustrating, insufferable know-it-all, for beating him in almost everything as a Muggle-born. However, not a slight happiness had he received when the desirable scene had been brought to his eyes. Her watery, swollen eyes sent a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as a wave of protectiveness was aroused in his heart.

His free hand touched her moist cheek tentatively, his thumb interrupted the cascading movement of the salty liquid and wiped the wetness away. Her gloomy eyes displayed a hint of surprise at his behaviour, causing him to realize what he'd just done. Awkwardly pulling his hand away from her face, he buried her face into his chest, avoiding her questioning gaze. The evidence of her sorrow along with the warmth of her body seeped through his silk shirt. Her tears were like fire, they burnt a hole in his flesh and tingled his sinking heart.

An hour or so, her hiccups stopped as she'd slowly calmed down. Due to the dampness, his shirt stuck to his chest, giving him an uncomfortable sensation, but he wasn't bothered by that since the witch in his arm was finally feeling better. She tilted her head away from him, making a slight distance between them while his warm hand still rested above the bra hook on her exposed back. Draco lowered his head; his eyes met her puffy red ones before they travelled downwards and her largely exposed skin reminded him that behind the blanket Hermione Granger was only in her undergarments. Astonished by the fact, his eyes enlarged as his hand pulled away at lightning speed as if it'd just touched a hot stove.

He coughed, trying to hide his embarrassment away. "Better now?" he muttered. His question had got its answer as she nodded her tousled bushy head with a small smile. Her cheeks were dried now but he could still notice the faint glistening marks on them.

Draco bolted from the bed suddenly and strode to the closet. Pulling a piece of nightgown out, he walked back to her and dropped the piece of fabric on the sheets beside her while trying his best not to look at her uncovered chest area. Then he turned away and busied himself with heating up the food on the table as she put on the gown. It only took him a few flicks to finish the task, but he fixated his eyes on the food for a few more seconds until he couldn't hear any cloth rustling noise.

He handed her a bowl of corn soup and sighed in relief as her skin was concealed nicely behind the linen fabric. Her trembling hands took it and the yellow liquid almost spilt out of the bowl. Trying to keep a "safe" distance from his former schoolmate, Draco sat on the couch with his portion of food and ate silently, while occasionally darted glances to her to make sure she's all right. Her eyes no longer as sombre and her muscles weren't as tense as an hour ago. Except for her tousled, nest-like, bushy hair, overall, she looked fine. He couldn't help growing respect for her. She's not only the brightest witch of their age, but she's also one of the toughest witches he'd ever known.

Draco had finished his food first, then he immersed himself in the book _How Magic Interferes Time _as he waited for her to finish hers. When he's going for the next chapter, she startled him by calling his name.

"Malone." It's quiet but clear.

His eyes looked up from the text. The empty utensils were placed on the table beside her; her chocolate eyes were staring at him intently. The corners of her lips tilted upwards into a small curve, expressing her gratitude when a "thank you" left the slit of her mouth. He returned her a genuine smile before he bookmarked his book and casually left it on the couch.

Bending over her, he helped her lie down on the mattress before she shifted to her side of the huge bed. He pulled the blanket over her small form with care and her hand covered the back of his, interrupting it from moving away. She squeezed it as she pleaded for his company with her delicate gaze. He sighed and hesitated. _She is Know-It-All Granger, _his mind screamed. But he ignored it completely as he climbed onto the bed. _You dimbo! What are you thinking? _He lied down next to her, he's only a few inches away from her.

With a wave of his wand, the candles were extinguished, and the entire room was black immediately. The boundary between their personal sleeping areas was broken as the tiny figure beside him squirmed closer to him, shortened the distance between them and astounded him. He wanted to mock her like how she'd scolded him last time—"you invaded my personal space"—but resisted the urge since he knew she's emotionally vulnerable at the moment. He let her lean against his chest and steal the warmth from him, while he didn't know where to place his arm which was awkwardly rested on the side of his body. Her slower heartbeat was sent through the layers of fabric between them and echoed his faster one, before hers gradually synchronized with his.

"Thank you so much, Ladon." Her warm breath hit his chest as she whispered. This was the first time she called him by his "name", which was a pity since it wasn't his actual name.

"Do you know where the name Ladon comes from?" he asked softly.

"It's Hera's dragon who guarded the gardens of the Hesperides in Greek myth?"

"That's right. Are you familiar with Astronomy?"

She slowly shook her head; it hit his chest several times.

"There's a constellation representing Ladon the dragon, and it's called Draco. That's my name," he stated under his breath calmly, waiting for the outburst of anger and disgust from the witch. However, after a minute, he still didn't earn any response from her. The room was silent and the only sound he could hear was her stable, deep breath. A sigh of relief and regret escaped his lips as he absent-mindedly twisted her curls around his finger.

He didn't know it's lucky or unlucky that Hermione Granger had fallen asleep when he'd recklessly spilt the truth since half of him wished her to know, but another half didn't. After a short session of fathoming, his eyes drooped closed as his arm landed on the waist of the witch while he drifted into dreamland.

* * *

**Author's note:**

It's been a week and I brought you all another new chapter! Hope you all enjoy it! And thank you to everyone especially to those who have given me some lovely reviews!


	13. Exposed Lies

_A__ug 19 1612 (Sunday)_

It's so hot. Her nightgown had stuck to her sweaty skin, making her feel so uncomfortable. Hermione kicked away her blanket in her shallow sleep and tried to shift away from the source of heat, albeit a heavy weight pressed into her waist, hindering her from rolling around. Humming disapprovingly, she moved with more strength this time, but the pressure on the side of her body only tugged her even closer to the warmth. Her droopy eyes reluctantly squinted open to investigate what was going on.

The first thing came into sight was a piece of smooth white material forming a V-line attached with ruffles, displaying the pale skin underneath. His distinctive applewood scent rushed to her nose, enveloping her with a sense of security. Her tentative gaze darted upwards and wandered along his chiselled jawline to his pointy chin then to his face. His lids were shut, masking the stormy, mysterious silver orbs from the beams of sunlight. Her eyes lowered to her torso and found his arm on her waist, keeping her tightly against him, she could sense the heat radiating from his flesh and his strong heartbeat through their nightwears. She dismissed the idea of pushing him away as she's afraid of waking him up. He'd helped her a lot and he deserved a serene, pleasant sleep. Her cheeks heated up as she recalled that she'd pathetically squirmed towards to wizard last night. She's the reason why they're in this position.

She had utterly lost the urge to resume her sleep. Her eyes settled on his face again. It's the first time their faces were so close that there were only centimetres between them. His skin was pale as usual, faint shades of pink were exhibited at the high points of his cheeks. She surveyed his face from forehead to chin, discovering a few vague freckles here and there which were unnoticeable unless you got very, very close. She wondered if Draco Malfoy had freckles too. Then the thought of the infamous Hogwarts bully screaming like a baby girl while his father disowned him for "turning into a Weasley" made her almost burst out laughing.

Although she knew that the man before her was Ladon Malone, not Draco Malfoy, the physical resemblances between the two still intimidated her. Besides their appearances, their personalities were similar too. Both were spoiled, snobbish. They're frustratingly stubborn about their beliefs, but very quick-witted and competitive, especially in arguing; they'd just bend the truths and throw demeaning comments in order to win.

However, no matter how much they resembled each other since Draco Malfoy couldn't care less about her and wouldn't even get close to her, she's sure that she wouldn't mistake one for another if both of them were standing in front of her. They were two completely different individuals.

After the events that had taken place the previous day, she'd be lying if she didn't admit that she'd been getting attached to Malone, to someone from a different timeline. It wasn't a piece of good news at all. It's foolish of her to let her emotions take the lead, but she couldn't help it. Ladon Malone was the only person she could talk to when she's stuck in this timeline. Although they'd been forced to live together for a week, they didn't know much about each other. They only chatted about random magical trivia but nothing personal. She somehow had a peculiar feeling that while she's trying to keep a distance between them, Malone was doing the same too. He wouldn't pressure her to tell him anything she didn't want to and vice versa. Still, she trusted him while she couldn't imagine herself having faith in Draco Ferret Malfoy.

His long eyelashes fluttered as she's counting his almost invisible freckles before his grey eyes blinked at her in bewilderment, leading her heart to skip a beat. She spun around and got rid of his arm as she dramatically rolled aside towards the other end of the bed as if a child had got caught doing naughty things. Facing her back to him, she could feel his piercing stares burning holes into her back. It took him a few seconds to figured out the situation and give feedback.

"Honestly, Gran-tham"—there was a slight pause between the syllables of her pseudonym which she didn't notice—"you've been in my arms for the entire night. It's too late to put up an act like a shy teenage girl," he drawled, stifling a yawn.

Ignoring his unwelcomed teasing by submerging her flushed face into her pillow, she sensed his weight lifted off the mattress as he headed to the toilet. The favours Malone had done for her was disturbingly too much for an acquaintance, no matter what reasons he had. Her shoulders had already loaded with debts—he'd rescued her twice, he'd lent her his money, he'd healed her wounds, he'd comforted her. There's no way she could repay him.

Later, when they're having breakfast on the ground floor, they heard people talking about the upcoming witch trials at Lancaster Assizes in these two days; five suspects would be tried today and ten tomorrow. Hermione's heart sank at the news—if it wasn't Malone, she would be on a fatal trial along with her fellow prisoners in days. However, not everyone was as fortunate as she was, so many were charged with witchcraft when there wasn't an adequate proof; more ridiculously, some weren't even wizards. These poor people had to go through numerous torments before they were executed. She wished she could help them, but she couldn't.

Malone gracefully helped himself to the buttered buns, as if he didn't care about any of the news. But when Hermione looked closely, she caught the turmoil in his eyes. He's suppressing his anger as well. For the whole meal, they just ate in silence and listened to the conversation between Muggles.

* * *

Back to their room, Malone immediately seized the book on the couch. It was the book he's reading the previous night. She scanned the title curiously—_How Magic Interferes Time_—it's one of the books she'd added to the time-travel collection in her room at Flourish and Blotts. She'd almost forgotten that she'd asked him to bring some books for her from Diagon Alley, which was currently an unsettled region. She needed to know how the Wizarding World was doing. Once the rebellion was settled down, she must leave since she couldn't proceed with her study on time-travel when he's around.

"Diagon Alley, did anything happen?" she asked quietly, sitting on the bed across the couch he's on.

Without shooting her a spare glance, he answered mindlessly, "Not really. Most of the shops were closed though and the whole district was deserted."

"How about the goblins?"

"Gringotts was still running normally; the goblins didn't bite, didn't hex, but I could tell the number of them was less than normal, bet most of them went on strike and fought with wizards." He shrugged as he turned to the next page.

"I hope the rebellion can be settled soon, so I can go home."

Abruptly, Malone put down the book on his lap while his gaze roamed to her face. His brows were furrowed, and he inhaled deeply that his chest heaved before he let out a long sigh. "Grantham, can I ask you something?"

"What is it?"

"Do you—" he paused, considering whether he should continue his sentence. "Do you happen to be a time-traveller? I mean, are you from the future?"

The question was like a knife stabbed right into her heart; she gasped as her eyes widened in shock and horror. _Oh Merlin, how did he know?_

"Are you insane?" That's all she managed to say.

As though a carnivore observing its struggling, dying pray, he leaned forward and rubbed his chin with his long fingers, gazing at her. She dodged his observant eyes and bit her lip.

"Maybe I am. So now, tell me, where exactly is your home?" His tone was low but firm.

She stayed quiet as her sweaty hands clutched the sheets; her body began to fidget.

"See? You can't even tell me where your—"

"London," she interjected. It wasn't a lie, albeit it's the London in the year 1999.

One of his brows rose at her reply. "London? Is that so? I thought you're from somewhere far away?" he sneered. "Did you forget the fact that Diagon Alley is in London where you just happened to be a week ago."

"No—"

"Lincolnshire," he cut in roughly, causing Hermione to peek at him, "that should be your hometown if you're a better liar. You should be aware of the origins of names when you made up an identity."

The tension only heightened through time since both of them kept their mouth shut. Malone's lifted brow challenged her to rebut his statement, but Hermione didn't comply. She just returned his stare boldly, unwilling to be the first to break the eye-contact as it's a display of cowardice and loss.

"The books"—he finally broke the suffocating silence, still eyeing her with an indecipherable expression—"inside your room at Flourish and Blotts. There are at least thirty of them and they are all about time-travel. They can't be only for leisure purposes, I reckon?" Since she didn't reply, he proceeded, "You said you're from far far away and I wouldn't be able to help you no matter what; it confused me. But after seeing your books, I knew it. You're stuck in a different timeline and can't find the way back to your own."

Her mouth was agape as she searched for the best argument to refute his evidenceless surmise. Shortly, before she could say anything, he added, "I may be able to help." His hand shoved into the pocket of his breeches and drew out a golden chain which was linked to a palm-sized circular device. "I guess, you already know what this is. I made this. I know how to make a Time-Turner."

Hermione's eyes hooked on the shining object in his hand. Working at the Time Room for months, she was absolutely positive that it's a real Time-Turner. If everything he said was legitimate, then he should have a wide knowledge of time-travel, he might be able to help her.

_Should I tell him the truth that I'm indeed from the future and ask for his help? He's helped me so many times and never done anything against me. He's a helpful man, but we've only known each other for a few weeks. Is he trustworthy enough for me to tell him my biggest secret? I'd be breaking tons of laws if I do that—just saying, it's not like I care about laws under desperate circumstances. I don't even need to worry about laws if I can't go back to my time anyway. The main point is—should I trust him?_

Her hand was inserted into her gown pocket. She folded her fingers around her wand while examining Malone's face, making her final decision. _I'll obliviate him. He won't remember any of this later. _Yet, her grip on the wood stick loosened after several seconds. Her fingers dived further until they were in contact with something cool and solid. They gave the object a fierce pull and exposed it to the bright sunlight, to the surprised eyes of the wizard before her.

"You're right," she stated, showing one of her Time-Turners to him. "I'm indeed from the future."

* * *

**Author's note:**

Actually I didn't expect this to happen. I didn't expect this would happen so fast. But to keep Hermione around, Draco could only do this. It's quite a gamble for him as well as Hermione could just obliviate him instead of admitting that she's a time-traveller from the future. Although I didn't plan for this to happen so early, I feel great about the plot and I'm really excited to continue the story.

Thank you for all the encouraging comments. I'm so flattered and happy that you like my story.


	14. Perplexing Outburst

_A__ug 19 1612 (__Sun__day)_

The silver object in her hand glistened under the light. Her firm brown gaze fixated on him, perceiving his every muscle movement. Draco kept his face straight, perfectly concealed his astonishment. Letting anybody from a different timeline learn that you're a time-traveller was unacceptable by the Ministry; knowing how much of a stubborn, righteous person Hermione Granger was, it's hard to believe that she did something against the laws by showing him her Time-Turner, admitting that she indeed didn't belong here. The Hogwarts teacher's pet didn't play by the rules was like the sun rose in the west. The possibility of her going to tamper with his memory after her revelation was extremely high.

Still holding his golden Time-Turner before her, he slipped his free hand into his pocket cautiously while his alerted eyes remained on her, in case she made any offensive moves against him. His grasp tightened around his hawthorn wand before he spoke, not letting his guard down meanwhile.

"So, why are you here?"

She chewed on her lip; her brows squeezed together and formed wrinkles between them. Anxiety and hesitation were obvious. After a brief moment of contemplation, she replied in a shaking voice, "It's an accident. In my timeline, my job is to fix unusable Time-Turners. Unfortunately, I accidentally travelled back in time to here. I can't tell you the details since it's basically spoiling the future for you. Knowing what will happen in the future may impact the way you think and the way you behave. I can't risk that."

With the little information from her, Draco was certain about one thing—she's an Unspeakable. After the war, he'd been detached from most of his schoolmates and away from the gossips. He didn't care and had no idea what the others did for a living, except the ones who appeared on the newspaper frequently, such as Saint Potter—the Boy Who Couldn't Die, who had become the famous, invincible Head Auror recently; he'd been on numerous dangerous missions with his gangs, reminding the entire Wizarding World that he's indeed invincible every single month.

"Basically, you came here by accident and you can't find a way back to your time, am I right?"

She nodded her head as her arm dropped to her lap along with the silver device. "Right. You said you know how to create a Time-Turner earlier. Do you think it's possible to make a Time-Turner that can take its user to the future?"

_If I know how to make that kind of Time-Turner, I won't be talking with you in this bloody place and time. I wouldn't be staying in this fucking hell, namely 17th Century for months, _he cursed inwardly while making sure that none of his frustration was displayed. In fact, for the past month when he's alone, Draco had been trying to invent a Time-Turner like that, but, of course, he hadn't succeeded.

"I'm not sure. Never made something like that before. I only know how to make a regular one that can reverse time." He kept his voice low and peaceful to make it sound genuine and convincing. "But I won't say it's impossible. We can try."

Hermione's stiffen shoulders relaxed as her once dull eyes sparkled with optimism, causing him to loosen his grip on his wand. "You know, we aren't even friends, but you've helped me so many times. Thank you so much, Malone," she smiled. Her hopeful expression clenched his stomach while guilt devoured him bit by bit; he had to stop looking at her.

"As I've told you before, you look like someone I know. Helping you is only a way for me to redeem myself," he mumbled, avoiding meeting her eyes.

"I don't like feeling indebted to anybody. So, let me know when you have anything in mind that you want me to do."

* * *

"Did you find anything useful in that book?"

"It's totally rubbish." He threw the book on the floor casually; a loud thud echoed throughout the room as the hardcover collided with the floor. Outstretching his arm for another book, he drawled, "I can write better than him."

They spent another day in their room, scanning the four books Draco had brought from the bookstore. However, none of them had found anything useful. Although he had read a lot during his making of the Time-Turner with Theo, he hadn't seen a single book that mainly focused on the topic of travelling to the future. There were only fragments of assumptions and hypothesises of how to speed up time and the possible consequences of doing so since no one had ever succeeded in making a device for that purpose. Considering magic wasn't as advanced four centuries from the present, Draco doubted any book covered the subject, what they're doing was most likely wasting their time. Therefore, he called a halt to the futile reading marathon and suggested to figure out everything on their own, which Hermione agreed without any complaint.

"Tell me, what is a Time-Turner?" Draco initiated the discussion with the simplest question, sitting on the couch beside the witch which had been moved to the front of the dressing table.

She squared her shoulders, keeping her chin high confidently, before reciting the definition of a Time-Turner. "A Time-Turner is a magical device used for time travel. It can reverse time by creating a passage that connects the present and the past to take its user to a different spacetime."

_Well done, Miss Granger. 10 points to Gryffindor, _he mimicked what the professors always said whenever Hermione Granger had answered a question.

"Right." He scribbled down a few notes on a piece of parchment. "So, how does a Time-Turner create a passage like that?"

"In our universe, we have tiny, minuscule quantum fluctuations in the fabric of spacetime on the smallest scales. A Time-Turner compresses the energy fluctuations in both the positive and negative directions—a very strong, dense, positive energy fluctuation would create curved space in one particular fashion; while a strong, dense negative energy fluctuation would curve space in exactly the opposite fashion. Connecting the two curvature regions, the Time-Turner forms a passage that you can transport through it, allowing you to disappear from the present and reappear in the past," Hermione fluently showcased her knowledge.

"Correct." After jotting down the key points of what she said, Draco continued, "But how exactly does a passage take us from the past to the future?"

Hermione frowned and stayed quiet this time. _For once, Little Miss Know-It-All encountered a question that she doesn't have an answer, _he thought, suppressing a smirk. If he hadn't worked with the smartass inventor Theo Nott before, he wouldn't know the answer either. They had spent a year organizing all the information from every time-magic book, having infinite discussions, analyzations and experiments before they'd come up with a thorough, logical explanation. Unlike Charms and Transfiguration, which the concepts couldn't be explained by words; Time-magic was more like Potions, there were theories and reasons behind everything—it's pure science.

"Let's imagine time is usually like"—he drew a straight arrow on the paper—"this, we usually move forward in the same direction along with time. Going back in time means we move in the opposite direction or stay at the same spot. Time-Turners can bend spacetime to make timelines turn back on themselves to form a loop by compressing energy fluctuations and creating two curvature regions—we call them wormholes—and connecting the two wormholes to form a passage. The two ends of the passage, the wormholes"—he drew a circle slowly, leaving a gap between the start and the end of the line—"represent the past and the present respectively. Time usually goes from the past to the present, but not vice versa. But when a Time-Turner bends a timeline like a circle, the present is connected to the past."

Seeing Hermione nod her head, he continued, "But it's a completely different case if we want to travel to the future. Theoretically, travelling to the future should be easier since we're heading the same direction as time is." He pointed the straight line with his quill. "We've been travelling to the future every single second since we're born. I'll say—we must move faster than time itself. The device we need for a trip to the future should be able to create a space that time goes faster than normal."

"Sounds reasonable. But how?" murmured Hermione with her brows furrowed.

"Still don't have a clue," he replied absent-mindedly while staring at his own handwriting. "Time is beyond common sense. It's not something a human mind can fully understand."

"This book says 'the two components of a Time-Turner are a metal case and an hourglass. The sand in the hourglass is a mixture of various powdered materials, such as Pixie dust, Graphorn horn, Chizpurfle carapace, dragon eggshell, fire seed, fairy wings...' I think we can get everything in Diagon Alley!" chirped Hermione as she closed the book.

"The shops probably won't open, considering the current state of the Wizarding World."

"But most shop owners live above their shops. If we're lucky, we can find the owner of the Apothecary."

* * *

The next day, they returned everything of the inn room to its normal state; the bed was two times smaller now and the wardrobe was empty, the couch had been moved back to its original spot. They'd packed all their belongings into Draco's enchanted suitcase before they checked out. To not arouse any suspicion from the villagers, they avoided Apparation in the village so that they wouldn't "suddenly disappear". They decided to take a carriage to Lancaster, the neighbouring town first before they apparated to London.

Sitting across him, she's reading her copy of Shakespeare's Othello. He leaned forward with his elbow on his thigh, resting his chin on his fist. His gaze fixed on her face, watching her read. Her brown bushy curls bounced as the carriage travelled along the rock-strewn road. He didn't have anything to do while Hermione's focus was completely on the book as if he's invisible. The feeling of being ignored was somehow infuriating him. He realized he'd been too used to her company after spending most of the time together for a week. She'd crept into his habit and he didn't like it. Still, at the same time, he wanted to talk, or to be precise, he wanted her to talk to him. He wanted her attention.

About fifteen minutes later, she finally noticed his intense stare and to Draco's relief, she initiated a conversation. "What is it?" muttered Hermione, shooting a glance at him before resumed her reading.

"Talk to me. I'm bored," he demanded sourly.

"If you ask nicely, I will." She turned to the next page.

"Tell me about your life in your time." His pompous tone didn't change a bit after he heard her words.

Still keeping her eyes on the text, she replied softly, "I can't tell you. You know that."

"I don't see the reason."

"I don't want to change the way you think and behave by disclosing the future to you."

His rage suddenly overflowed as if lava gushed out of an erupting volcano. "This is what I don't understand," he burst. "From the moment you showed up here, letting someone see you, you've already meddled with their mind to influence their judgements and behaviours. Changes are unavoidable when you time-travel, the greater the distance you travel, the greater the changes are. Even if you disillusion yourself, you still have the chance of changing the past; your footprints, your fingerprints, your breaths, every tiny sign of your existence can change things in a certain degree."

Eventually, she turned her attention to him, scowling. "Still, I don't want—"

"Your existence in a timeline that you don't belong to is already a kind of damage to time itself. If you've already exposed your identity to a person, I don't see the need of still being so careful with anything you do, since you've already tampered with the time a lot. Let me tell you something—you're only refusing to accept the fact that you're making great harm to the universe. You're only trying to maintain the Little Miss Perfect image to yourself, to delude yourself into thinking that you're a virtuous, principled person and you're better than anyone else. This is called hypocrisy—" _and this is what I hate the most about you and your Gryffindor lots, _he shouted the last sentence in his head, pouring all his fury out in the form of words.

Hermione glowered at him; her lips created a thin line as they pressed together, feeling offended. Although everything he'd said was his true thoughts, deep down he knew that he's merely venting his spleen on her. Draco himself had no idea why he's overwhelmed with anger out of the blue. The way she thought and acted was none of his business, she had the right to do whatever she wanted.

For the rest of the ride, they both looked out of the window, though none of them paid any attention to the picturesque sight. They're occupied with their own trains of thoughts, reflecting on their certain behaviours, surrounded by tense quietness.

* * *

**Author's note:**

It took me a lot of time to come up with some reasonable theories behind the time-turners. I hope the information isn't too boring.

Someone said that this story wasn't Dramione, it's actually a Hermione/OC pairing thinly disguised as a Dramione fanfic. Honestly, I'm pretty confused because I thought I'd already pointed out very clearly in the story that Ladon Malone = Draco Malfoy, Helen Grantham = Hermione Granger. I don't see why a character in disguise would turn him into an OC.

Thank you so much for all your support. It means so much to me.


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